nosleep

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/KD_PL on 2024-09-11 21:05:43+00:00.

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I need urgent help, I think I am in a town that doesn’t exist. I will do my best to explain with clarity. 

My name is Roger, I'm a cop.  I was recently re-stationed to a small farming town. I thought since it would probably be less eventful then the city, I would have had more time to pursue things I neglected for the majority of my life. 

However, that's not what happened…

Upon my arrival at the station everything was fine, meeting my new colleagues I learned almost everyone came from out of town like me. It was nice to know everyone could relate to me. The first day was uneventful so to cure my boredom I made the mistake of reading some old case files. 

I thought I was reading an elaborate prank, calls describing impossible problems, monsters and flying spines? . I thought they were not cross-checked, so some officers decided to practise their writing skills. But the details were meticulous, vast with real and signed resident accounts…

I sent a complaint to the station's higher ups.

The station's higher ups were confused at my complaint, and gave a speech about how they ensure standards are kept high in the station. Speaking to my new colleagues I received similar reactions, as if I was explaining to them how it's weird that it's dark during night time. 

I didn’t know what to think at first. I thought maybe since I'm the new guy the station was just messing with me. However I saw it with my very own eyes.

 My next door neighbour and his house vanished within about 5 hours. It was replaced with a patch of grass dominated by a colossal tree… A whole 2 story house disappeared in just 5 hours, replaced by old oak a few decades old. Talking to my other neighbours about it filled me with extensive paranoia, I never thought a confused look would fill me with dread. 

I like to consider myself intelligent, so I rather quickly realised something is wrong with the place.  I collected all the evidence I could to send to my old station. Including some interviews I did with some of the officers who had weirder calls. I wanted to get their unprofessional retelling of events. 

Their off the record point of view.

I sent off the first few to my old station with no response coming back. In fact nobody from the outside responded. I tried calling everyone from: friends, family and even old colleagues. It seemed I had access to the outside world but the outside world didn’t have access to me.

Honestly I began to question my own sanity. I mean there are signs: outburst of emotion, foggy memory and hallucinations. I think that's the best way to describe them. Oh which reminded me, I don’t seem to recollect how I got into the town. I got here, but if I drove here or flew I don’t remember. On top of that a quick google search showed me the place I'm in doesn’t exist, satellite images show just a thick forest directly where I stand. Standing directly next to my new little house, on the phone I only see trees. 

I'm unsure what my next move should be. So I decided to post this here. Hopefully someone will read the first interview  and tell me that this is not “normal”. 

I need confirmation that I'm not losing my mind. 

I transcribed the interview below.

8.09.2024 1:34PM Rowoak Police station  Interviewee - Jack Murrow

R - “And the recorder is on, how are you feeling Jack?”

J - “Good, how can I not be? I'm getting paid to do my favourite thing. Talking.”

R - “Alright, as you know I found out that some of the records were. Let’s say, poorly kept. So I'm going to ask a few questions about one of your calls just to fill in the missing details.” 

J - “No problem.” 

R - “Tell me about the call you had a few days ago at midnight, the one in Maggies.”

J - “ Just some kids broke into the store I guess, played some tricks on me too. Really that one had missing details? It was pretty uneventful, not like there were many details in the first place.” 

R - “Yes that one, just talk to me. Step by step what happened that night.”

J - “Alright big boss…”

I think it was just about five minutes past midnight, I was cruising down the main road on my unexpected night shift. I wasn’t supposed to be there that night, Anthony called in sick a day before. Ruined my Friday plans. I sadly don’t get paid to complain so I did my job. 

I remember it was rather cold that night, the breeze snuck into the cruiser at some points revealing my breath. I didn’t shut the windows completely as the echo of the outside wind brushing against the thick treeline brought comfort in the darkness. So did the quiet talk host blabbering on the radio about some new internet trend. The combination of those kept me awake for the midnight shift, the midnight shift is more of a formality than a need. I was on it a few times before and nothing ever happened apart from occasional check ups on my walkie talkie. After dark all business shut, the streets become filled with emptiness and the roads with occasional plastic bags dragged by the wind. 

Safe to say when my walkie talkie told me there is a potential robbery in Maggie's, My pupils grew. 

It took me less than a minute to arrive at the scene, empty streets and all. The owner was outside eagerly awaiting my arrival. He rushed towards me before I even had the chance to take a step outside of my cruiser. 

“I caught em I caught em I finally caught the fuckers!” His words gripped at my collar and snatched me closer as he shouted his achievements to me. 

“Slow down sir, what is going on what do you mean you cau-”

“Every single night clothes began disappearing and mannequins were placed in random corners of the shop. Two days ago I even found the backdoor wide open. YOU GUYS didn’t take me seriously so I took matters into my own hands. AND I CAUGHT THEM” The owner spoke fast in an aggressive farmers manner as If I was the nuisance and not the apparent burglar in the shop. 

I remember a few days ago some of the boys did visit Maggie’s on multiple occasions, yet like suggested they didn’t find anything of note. Apart from the fact that the money kept in the backroom safe was never touched. 

“Please sir, listen to me. Slow down… Tell me wha- what do you mean you took the matters into your own hands?” 

“Alright…I bought motion sensors and upgraded my doors. The sensors went off a few minutes ago and the shutters dropped.” The owner responded. His slowed down tone gave me the time to finally get a good look at him. He was an older gentleman with a thick whitened beard and a protruding bald spot. He certainly didn’t look like an owner of a clothes shop. His jacket and jeans were rugged, worn out. I'm guessing he ran the finances while his wife did the clothing part.

“So this burglar is still inside?” I asked while peeking behind his shoulder onto Maggie’s. It was a brick rectangle with metal shutters protecting the front door. A giant sign above the shutters glowed and sparkled in my car's headlights, it read “Maggie’s, Clothes Fit For All The Seasons.” 

“Oh they are and I want you to arrest them and tell them TO LEAVE MY MANNEQUINS ALONE!” his saliva polished my boot. 

I reached over to my walkie talkie and lined out the situation. While the owner was preparing to open the shutter doors I got the grim news that no backup would be coming. I doubted that the burglar would be armed or dangerous due to their recent non-violent history. However the fear of an altercation was still eating at me. 

My flashlight failed to reach the back of the store, slowly cutting off at the midpoint right at the rotating clothing racks. I couldn’t see any movement in the gloom, a good yet bad sign. 

“Hello…? This is the police, we surrounded the building. Make it easy for us and come out slowly with your hands up. “ I heard my own routine spoken right back to me, I was quite startled even though I knew it was just an echo. 

“I'm afraid… Afraid that the light switch is in the store room right at the back of the store. We can enter it through the backdoor.” With no hesitation I shut the front door and marched onward towards the back entrance. The owner fiddled with his mass of keys until one eventually fit. 

“Take a few steps back sir.” I gently slid my arm onto the owner's shoulder and pushed him away from the door.  I grasped the metallic handle, slowly turning the knob while trying to control my racing heart beat. I felt my wrist tense as the door refused to pop open even though I turned the knob a solid 85 degrees. After a deep breath and a quick snap. 

The backdoor was open. 

My flashlight lit the concrete grey staff room, compared to the actual store it featured no aesthetics nor colour. It was just a formality. A quick glimpse showed that the door leading to the store was closed, but I still had to check if he wasn’t here instead. 

Each step created a loud thud that echoed throughout the room. My flashlight following my panning head showed the room was empty. The room was rather small, only featuring: an old sofa, table with a dusty computer, fusebox and bunch of clothing racks doing their best to hide the blandness of the walls. 

“Nobody’s here, come in.” The owner in an instant rushed towards the fuse box, while mumbling to himself he flicked some switches until the staff room exploded with a bright light. The sound of multiple lights springing to life and the corresponding buzz filled the orchestra. 

“There we go, let me get the computer I've got some cameras we can look at.” The owner rushed to the bright monitor while I r...

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/googlyeyes93 on 2024-09-11 23:53:26+00:00.

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Previous

I don’t know if it was the world taking pity on me, keeping any more bad shit from happening for a while, but I was going to take it. Though I did see the giants a few more times, and on occasion, when gazing out of the porthole, I would see the giant eye watching us in the distance.

A body drifted in near the platform three months later. Catching in one of the nets. At first we thought it was probably some drowning victim, maybe a suicide that threw themselves into the ocean. They were completely naked, long, pale body shining in the morning glow when Hap first reported it to us. Sandy and I went down in the dive suits, pulling it from the tangled safety net and bringing it up the ladder. We noticed immediately when we got to it that it wasn’t a normal person, though.

”What the hell is that?” Hap said, looking at the creature, now laid out on the platform. Sandy and I leaned over along with him and Shannon, inspecting the strange being that we found.

It was long, probably nine feet if I had to guess. Human-ish torso. Or human enough, at least. It was extremely lithe, tiny, delicate fins running down the arms and spine, though they were hardly noticeable unless closely inspected. Gills ran from the chest up to the neck, elongated and smooth as it reached the head.

Its face was close to ours, but with a smooth, almost flattened nose. Larger eyes were situated far apart, almost on either side of the head, while the lower jaw was huge, extremely wide with sharp rows of teeth visible as it jutted out from the upper half of the head. Webbed hands at the end of long arms must have been used for gliding through the water easily. The oddest thing to appear though, was that at the waist it became more leathery, long masses of tentacles hanging down from the abdomen. They weren’t like octopus tentacles, but the best I could compare it to was something like that of a Lion’s Mane Jellyfish. Long, slender, and pale just like its skin, extending maybe ten feet longer from the torso at its longest.

“Is this… is this a mermaid?” Shannon asked, in complete disbelief at what was out in front of us. My mind was flashing back to the submarine now, wondering if this was what we saw on the edge of the cameras before things went to hell. Maybe it was related to the giant eye? “Help me get it to the lab, now.”

The four of us hefted it up, heading right into the base lab and throwing it up on the exam table, tentacles falling off the end and curling on the floor below. Shannon grabbed a scalpel immediately, beginning to line it up with the center of the creature’s chest. Before she could make the incision even an inch, the creature began to scream, a horrible sound like the screams of a drowning person, sound escaping into bubbles and stifling water even here above the surface.

”Holy shit!” Sandy shouted, stepping back from the table as it swiped a hand at her, vicious needles at the end of the webbed fingers extending outward like a cats claws. Hap wasn’t so lucky, catching a couple of good slashes on his shoulder as he fell back from the creature. It screamed again, using inhuman strength to heave itself from the table. The tentacles began moving, sliding it across the smooth floor and toward the door, searching for any route of escape. I was finally able to see the wide open eyes as it looked back at us, fear in its eyes.

They were the same glowing purple as what I had seen below, closed into slits once more. It looked like it was barely able to keep its eyes open, likely because of the blinding light up here compared to the depths of the twilight zone. The look on its face was frenzied though, obviously struggling to breathe without being in its natural environment below the ocean. I’m not even sure how it was alive, honestly, but it looked like it was fighting for its life to return home.

“Stand back. Everyone stand the FUCK back!” I shouted, raising my hands in a sign of showing the creature I wasn’t going to hurt it Not sure if it got the message, because it only backed into the door more before turning to claw at the metal, begging to be let out. I moved toward it slowly, still holding my hands out but now trying to talk it down. “Hey, hey, I can help you. Stop for a second and I can let you out.”

”No! Don’t let it escape! Do you know what a discovery this is!” Shannon was huffing her way toward me now, trying to pull me back from the thing as it desperately searched for another way out, moving from the door to look out of one of the windows. “If you let it out, we can’t show anyone what we found!”

It sliced a hand at the window, scraping against the thick glass to make the worst sound I’ve heard in my entire damn life. I ducked back, covering my head as it pulled a hand back again, this time ramming a huge, open palm full force into the glass, shattering it. It pulled itself out, catching tentacles and bleeding deep blue blood as it scraped along the glass. Before we could open the door, it had dove back into the sea, clearing the safety net with ease and disappearing.

Shannon was cursing up a storm, banging her hands on the railing as she screamed to the empty ocean before us. Sandy and I were trying to help Hap out, deep gashes bleeding through and soaking his clothes now. They were only on his shoulder, thankfully, and though it would hurt for a while, he would heal with some bandages and basic first aid. Sandy and I were the only ones keeping cool heads though, because he was in deep shock while Shannon couldn’t do anything but rant about her lost discovery.

I wish that was the end of it. Shannon became obsessed with trying to find one, taking the tentacles and blood samples it left behind on the window to examine every single thing about them. We got lucky when pulling it into the lab, because she found a neurotoxin secreted in the tentacles, though it seemed the creature could activate it at will to sting prey. Hard to believe this thing could be that deadly. We weren’t able to test the effects of the toxin, of course, but judging from the makeup of it, those caught only lasted long enough to see the jaws close around them.

Hap… started to change. It was subtle at first, his speech and voice becoming odd and what seemed like the development of an acute type of asthma. Trouble breathing, issues with keeping food down, and a persistent headache were the start. Then it became rapid after the two month mark, taking slow hold of him.

He came into the cafeteria that morning gurgling, saying he felt like he had aspirated water into his lungs. Then it quickly worsened, with him collapsing to the ground as he stood up to head to the lab. We called med-evac immediately, noting it was a life or death emergency this time so they needed to get their asses here ASAP.

It didn’t matter. Hap collapsed, desperately clutching at his chest for air as he tried ripping through his clothes. I noticed now that skin was coming up between his fingers, webbing his hands up to the knuckles. As he ripped his shirt off, I saw why he wasn’t able to breathe- huge, slashed gills were opening further into his chest, pulsating as they tried to breathe in through dry air. He was drowning on land, desperately gasping as the oxygen simply had nowhere to go now.

I picked him up as fast as I could, desperately trying to drag him out to the water in hopes it would help. I shouted for Sandy as I went, knowing Shannon was up in the lab where she wouldn’t hear me. As we rushed through the door, I grabbed a life preserver hanging on the railing before jumping over, Hap was barely standing as I pulled, trying to get him over the bars despite how much taller he was than me. The worst happened then.

He broke in half. More like just… disconnected at the waist. His lower body slid down to the deck, hitting the wet floor with a smack. From where his body was severed, I was holding his top half, now dangling down huge, lengthy tentacles that were writhing in agony. I was barely able to hang on as one of them hit me, stinging me on the hand before I dropped into the water, Hap falling after me.

We hit the water hard, me barely hanging on to the float as he began gasping in big breaths, voice becoming less drowned and raspy as he did. He was screaming though, face contorting in pain as his skull began shifting, taking on a more aquatic, steamlined appearance like the creature before. He was drifting away from me now, gasping while squeezing his head as eyes began to move, sockets widening and stretching outward as they went. His jaw disfigured, jutting out with a sharp snap and pop. I felt myself losing conscious then, a woozy feeling overtaking me as the neurotoxin began taking hold from the sting he gave me. I was slipping in and out, life becoming a dream as Hap’s screams faded out on the waves. I felt arms close around me, situating a life vest over my head as I went limp, Sandy’s face glowing like an angel through the sea foam as she pulled me up.

She took me into the lab, setting me down on an exam table while screaming at Shannon to fix me, now. Shannon looked surprised to say the least, and quickly went over to the case nearby, pulling a small vial out and hefting a syringe. I was trying to talk to them, I think, trying to tell them to go after Hap while they still could, but nobody was listening to me, only Sandy screaming at Shannon as she took a sample from...

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/adorabletapeworm on 2024-09-11 23:48:24+00:00.

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Previous case

It is with deep regret that I must announce that some self-proclaimed ‘monster hunters’ have arrived. This happens from time to time, and it's always a headache.

(If you're not familiar with what Orion Pest Control's services are, it may help to start here.)

The differences between specialty pest control companies and ‘monster hunters’ will become clear as I describe the events of this week. To start, these aspiring Winchesters and Van Helsings go out of their way to pick fights with the atypical, sometimes without even a basic understanding of what they're up against. This causes problems not just for them, but for those of us that have to do damage control afterwards.

Dealing with an infestation improperly only makes it worse. That's true of all pests, regardless of if they're typical or atypical. For example, most homeopathic or over-the-counter treatments for bed bugs are ineffective for the fact that they're sneaky little bastards. In order to stop the infestation, the entire colony must be eliminated. It's not enough to just kill every adult you see.

The reason for the impromptu bed bug PSA is because that's what Orion was finishing up with when the ‘monster hunters’ rolled up in what had to be the most ridiculous vehicle I'd ever seen in my life.

Their incredibly badass transportation of choice was a motor home boasting a flaming skull spray painted on the side of it with their phone number, which I will not disclose. My jaw dropped, watching it in disbelief as it parked at a few houses over from where we were.

Reyna and Cerri had the honor of basking in the motor home's glory with me, as well as cleaning up the mess its passengers would leave afterwards.

Cerri voiced my thoughts perfectly: “Is that a clown car?”

Anticipating that some nonsense was afoot, I joked, “Bet you five bucks they're all wearing leather jackets!”

Reyna quickly said, “I'm not taking that bet. They're definitely wearing leather jackets. And at least one of them has a cowboy hat. And possibly a katana.”

Sure enough, two large men emerged from their skull-emblazoned transport, clad in leather dusters. And one was, in fact, wearing a black cowboy hat.

Reyna muttered, “Huh. No katanas.”

Cerri was visibly cringing, “I take it you know these guys?”

I sighed, “No, I just know the type. Another group just like them tried to deal with a Dreamer a few years back and ended up making the entire situation several times worse, so… be ready to go to that house.”

“Worse how?” Reyna asked, loading equipment into the back of the truck.

“Rather than trying to catch and release the Dreamer, as we do, they tried to kill it. Unsuccessfully. In retaliation, the Dreamer ended up forcing everyone in the house into a comatose state until we could get it calmed down.” I explained.

She nodded slowly. “Great!”

When it comes to dealing with the atypical, it's best to do so with knowledge and respect. Going into it with the mindset of ‘hunting monsters’ already puts you at a disadvantage. The Neighbors belong in this world just as much as we do. They've lived through and seen things we can only dream of. While they can be dangerous, they are also capable of great acts of kindness as well as all the gray areas in between.

On the subject of vigilantes, humanity has done the Neighbors pretty dirty in the past; there's a part of me that can see why some of them hate us so much. We forced them to live in the Mounds. And now we take the world we forced them to give us for granted. The very least we could do to make up for it is not be complete dicks to them, if we can avoid it.

While my coworkers finished packing up, I called Victor, watching the house the vigilantes disappeared into for any signs of turmoil.

When I told him about the monster hunters, he said, “Yeah, I know about them. That homeowner called us not long after you three left. Tale as old as time: they pissed off a Housekeeper and didn’t like the answer I gave them. About an hour later, they called back all smug about how much cheaper it is to call those guys.”

Our services aren't even that expensive, especially compared to some pest control companies. The client must be paying these guys in chicken nuggets.

“A Housekeeper?” I resisted the urge to groan. “Well, that thing’s going to transform.”

“Yup. If it does, just try to make sure it doesn't kill anyone.” He replied, sounding exhausted.

While Reyna, Cerri, and I have been attending to Orion's regular (and irregular) duties, he and Wes have been focused on the Gingerbread House. Namely, trying to track it down. But, just as Deirdre predicted, it seems to keep moving. One of them will smell something sickly sweet or find crumbs left behind from discarded confections, only to discover that they're following a dead trail.

A few days back, when we reconvened after the Dead Duo's search, Vic mentioned that they'd spotted black thorns wrapped around one of the trees decorated with cookies. That makes me wonder if the Hunters are doing the same thing Orion is. Iolo hasn't mentioned anything about it in our sessions, but I could tell that the news of the gingerbread house had troubled him.

The good news is that, so far, we haven't heard any reports of children going missing. We'll do what we can to ensure it stays that way. And since our initial meeting, the Cookie Hag (for lack of a better term) has not tried to contact me. No more desserts have been left by my door.

Something I want to be clear on is that I'm not planning on doing that deal with the gingerbread house's owner. Right now, the goal is just to get him to focus more on her than on me and in turn, use the threat of him finding her to keep her from luring any children to her home. The ultimate goal is to see if he considers her enough of a threat that driving her out would be sufficient in evening out my life debt to him.

I know that it's risky and it's not well thought out. Believe me, I know. It's not ideal. But what other options do I have? (And no, inmates. Getting with Iolo is not an option.)

More on Iolo later. Sorry to jump around so much; a lot has happened since I last spoke to yinz. These vigilantes were the root of the chaos we’ve been contending with.

The one with the cowboy hat flew out of the front door like a bat out of hell. Amazingly enough, the hat stayed on his head. That was my cue to get my happy ass over there. I told the other two to join me once they were done loading up.

Cowboy Hat saw me and started shaking his head at me, “Ma'am, you need to leave! There is a very dangerous creature inside this house, but we've got it under- HEY!”

I walked right past him.

Fun fact: they did not have it under control.

As expected, the Housekeeper had transformed. The lights were flickering. The TV showed static, which oddly sounded like a distant chorus of women singing hymns. Shouting was audible over the hymns, followed by the sound of wood splintering.

I hurried, ignoring Cowboy Hat as he tried to grab me, presumably to pull me to safety. After weeks of dealing with Iolo's strength, speed, and skill, it seemed as if this man was moving in slow motion. He looked bewildered as I easily evaded him as I sought out the source of the commotion.

The Housekeeper’s headless body was clawing at a closed door. From another room, I could hear the head cackling as its sharp, bloodied fingernails scraped more deep gashes into the wood. I tried to sneak up on it, keeping a hand on Ratcatcher.

The body abruptly froze. After a moment of stillness, it began to levitate, rising higher until its stump of a neck was nearly brushing the ceiling. It then turned slowly to face me, slumped and dangling as if it was hanging from a noose.

I swung Ratcatcher in an upward arc just as it dove for me, outstretched hands wiggling towards my eyes. It swerved away from the blade, but not quickly enough, earning a thin slice along its side.

More shouting. My coworkers had come in, much to Cowboy Hat's increased distress. The body had landed roughly on the floor, skidding to a stop against the client's white sofa.

“Find the head!” I yelled, racing towards the Housekeeper as its twitching hands groped at its injured side.

Afterwards, I heard Reyna's and Cerri's footsteps banging through the house regardless of Cowboy Hat's protests.

Reyna knew what she was doing and while Cerri is obviously still learning, she seems to follow directions pretty well. I could count on them to deal with the head while I contended with the body.

Meanwhile, poor Cowboy Hat was left standing in the living room, dumbfounded, “Who are you people?!”

“Please just stay back!” I replied quickly, knowing that the transformed Housekeeper was about to be even angrier and more dangerous after being hurt.

Sure enough, a chair flew towards me as if thrown. I dropped down to avoid having my skull caved in by it, adrenaline warming my spine. Cowboy Hat swore and drew his gun as if it was going to do something.

“Sir, please put the gun away and find somewhere to hide!” I tried to be polite, I really did, but I didn't trust this guy not to shoot me instead of the Housekeeper. And even if his aim was accurate, all he'd succeed in doing was pissing it off even more.

The Housekeeper then raised its arms, causing a shelf to tip over onto Cowboy ...

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/desasterpiece on 2024-09-11 21:45:29+00:00.

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You guys know me—I’m obsessed with tech. I’ve been running my YouTube channel for years, testing the latest gadgets, reviewing every new release, and diving deep into the specs. If there’s a new phone, laptop, or even some weird piece of tech no one’s ever heard of, I’ve probably already taken it apart and put it back together. So when Apple sent me an iPhone 16 to review before the official launch, I was hyped.

They didn’t say much in the email. Just that I was among the first to get it and that there was a “revolutionary” feature in the camera system that they were particularly proud of. I didn’t think much of it at first. I mean, how many times can they really improve a camera, right? But when I finally got the phone in my hands, I realized they weren’t kidding.

From the outside, it looked like a slightly sleeker iPhone 15. Same general design, maybe a little slimmer, more glass. The real magic was in the camera. Apple’s big push was this new “Enhanced Night Vision Mode.” Apparently, it could capture images in near-total darkness—something to do with AI and some new sensor tech. I immediately thought of all the low-light vlogging I could do.

That night, I decided to give it a test run. I turned off every light in my apartment, leaving it completely dark except for the faint glow of the streetlights creeping through the blinds. I set the camera to night mode and started recording.

The clarity was insane. Even in the pitch black, the phone picked up everything—the details in the textures of my couch, the slight scuff marks on the floor, even the individual strands of my carpet. It was eerie how perfect it was. But as I was panning the phone around, something caught my eye.

In the corner of the room, near the hallway leading to my bedroom, there was… movement.

At first, I thought it was a glitch. Maybe some kind of artifact or reflection from the window. I panned back. There it was again. A shadow, long and thin, barely distinguishable against the wall. But the weird thing was, it wasn’t there when I looked with my own eyes.

I stared into the darkness, seeing nothing. But when I checked the phone screen again, the shadow was… shifting. It wasn’t just standing still—it was moving, slowly, almost imperceptibly, like it was swaying back and forth.

I laughed nervously, thinking it had to be some software bug. Maybe the AI was trying too hard to interpret something that wasn’t there. I kept recording, but this time, I zoomed in.

The closer I got, the clearer the figure became. It wasn’t just a shadow. It was a person. Tall, gaunt, dressed in what looked like old-fashioned clothes, the kind you’d see in photos from the 1800s. His face was pale, eyes sunken and empty.

My heart started racing. I quickly turned on the lights and pointed the phone at the corner, but there was nothing. Just an empty hallway.

I laughed again, trying to shake off the unease, but when I looked at the footage, the figure was still there. Staring at me.

I stopped recording and threw the phone on the couch. For the next hour, I tried to calm myself down, telling myself it was just some weird software glitch. Maybe it was a prank, something Apple programmed in to mess with early testers. But when I picked the phone back up, there were more of them.

In every corner of my apartment, through the phone’s camera, I could see people—figures, shadows. Some of them were just standing still, staring blankly at the walls, while others were barely visible, flickering in and out like static on an old TV.

I wiped the screen, rebooted the phone, even reset it to factory settings. But every time I opened the camera app, they were still there. And they were getting closer.

One woman, her hair matted and wet, was standing in the kitchen. She was dripping, like she had just stepped out of a river, her clothes clinging to her frail body. Her eyes were wide, almost bulging, but there was nothing inside them—just empty, black sockets.

I didn’t sleep that night. Every time I tried, I could hear them. Faint whispers, footsteps that weren’t there. And when I checked the phone, they were always closer.

By the next day, I was a wreck. My subscribers were blowing up my inbox, asking for the review, but I couldn’t bring myself to use the phone anymore. Every time I did, the figures grew more vivid, more real. I could feel their presence now, like the temperature would drop whenever I picked up the device.

I needed to get rid of it. I thought about mailing it back to Apple, but then what? They’d think I was crazy. So I decided to document it, make a video, and maybe one of my viewers would know what was happening.

I set up my camera and hit record. But just as I started talking, the screen on the iPhone 16 flickered. I grabbed it, and my heart sank.

There was a new figure in the room—standing right behind me.

I turned around, but of course, there was no one there. I looked back at the screen, and the figure—no, figures—were now all around me, closing in. Their faces, once blurry, were now clear as day. I could see every crack in their skin, every drop of water dripping from the woman’s hair, every twisted expression on their faces.

Then the phone buzzed. A notification. It was a FaceTime call, but there was no caller ID. Just a black screen. I didn’t answer. I didn’t dare.

The whispering got louder, and before I could stop myself, I answered the call. The screen was dark for a second, and then the camera switched to selfie mode.

Only, it wasn’t just me in the frame. They were there too, standing around me, their cold lifeless hands reaching toward my shoulders, their empty eyes staring straight into the lens. I screamed, dropping the phone, but the whispers kept growing louder, the room spinning, the air turning ice cold.

NY TIMES:

Local tech YouTuber Found Dead in Apparent Home Accident

[Sept 11] A popular technology YouTuber was found dead in his apartment late last night. Authorities were alerted after neighbors reported strange noises coming from the home. Upon entry, the police discovered the victim’s body in what they described as a “mangled” state, though details remain sparse.

Oddly, the victim was found clutching a prototype iPhone 16, which has yet to be officially released. Police have confirmed there was no sign of forced entry, but the cause of death remains unknown. The phone is currently being investigated as evidence.

At this time, officials have declined to comment on the cryptic footage found on the device, which is said to be “unexplainable.”

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/EllieRaineFreed on 2024-09-11 18:02:10+00:00.

---

I’m not sure where to start with this, but I can’t keep it to myself anymore. I work as a security guard in a mid-sized office building. Nothing fancy, just a regular office complex where I do the night shift. It’s usually dead quiet. I do rounds, check the cameras, and spend most of the time staring at my phone. But last night, something happened, and I can’t shake the feeling that something’s really wrong.

The night started like any other. I clocked in at 10 PM, took over from the day guard, and settled into my routine. The building’s empty after 8 PM, except for the cleaning crew that comes in for a couple of hours. They were just finishing up when I started. By 11:30, they were gone, and it was just me and the cameras.

I usually do a walk-through around midnight, just to stretch my legs and make sure everything’s locked up. The building’s got six floors, but only the first two floors are actively used by tenants. The rest are under renovation. I don’t like going up to those upper floors. They’re dark and full of half-finished walls, exposed wiring, and debris. I’ve always had a weird feeling about them, but part of the job is making sure no one’s up there doing something they shouldn’t.

I left the security office and started my round. Everything was normal—first floor was quiet, the doors locked, the lights dim. I made my way to the second floor. It’s a bit creepier at night because the motion lights only come on as you walk through, so you’re always stepping into a pitch-black corridor until the lights flicker on. But it was empty, as always.

I was about to head back downstairs when I thought I heard something. Just a faint, rhythmic tapping. I stopped, straining to listen, but it was gone. Figuring it was probably just some pipes settling or construction equipment, I shrugged it off and started down the stairs.

But there it was again. Tap-tap-tap. Faint, but persistent. Coming from above me.

I stood there, looking up the dark stairwell toward the upper floors. No one was supposed to be up there. I debated whether to go check or just ignore it. It wasn’t my first time hearing weird noises in this building. Renovations make things creak and shift. Still, the sound bugged me.

Eventually, I grabbed my flashlight and made my way up the stairs, the tapping growing louder with each step. The third floor was pitch black. My flashlight beam cut through the dust hanging in the air as I stepped off the landing. The floor was mostly unfinished—bare drywall, tools left scattered around by the construction crew. It was eerily silent except for the sound of my footsteps.

Then I heard it. A faint creak. Like someone shifting their weight on the floorboards ahead.

“Hello?” I called out. No answer.

I walked deeper into the floor, my flashlight bouncing off empty walls and exposed wiring. That’s when I saw it. A door at the end of the hall. One that shouldn’t be there. It wasn’t part of the renovation plans—I knew the layout of the building by heart. This door was old, with peeling paint and a tarnished brass handle.

I stopped, staring at it, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. No way was that part of the renovations. It was out of place. Like it had been there longer than the building itself.

I’m not proud of this, but I didn’t want to open it. Something about it felt wrong, like I wasn’t supposed to be there. I turned to leave, and that’s when the tapping started again—this time from behind the door.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I froze. My heart was racing, and my mouth went dry. There was no mistaking it now. It wasn’t a construction noise. It was deliberate.

I took a step forward, then stopped. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to open that door. I backed away slowly, my flashlight flickering as the tapping grew louder. Closer.

I bolted. I turned and ran back down the stairs, nearly tripping over my own feet. I could hear it now, that tapping echoing behind me, faster, like something was coming down the stairs after me.

I didn’t stop running until I was back in the security office. I slammed the door shut, locking it behind me, and checked the cameras. Nothing. Every floor was empty, just like always. But I knew what I heard. That door wasn’t supposed to be there, and whatever was behind it... it wasn’t supposed to follow me.

I spent the rest of the shift glued to the camera feed, watching the stairwell, waiting for something to show up. Nothing ever did. When morning came, I left as soon as my relief arrived. I didn’t say anything. What could I even say?

I went back tonight, but I didn’t do the walk-through. I can’t bring myself to go near the upper floors anymore. Not after that.

I don’t know what to do. I need this job, but I don’t know if I can handle it if whatever was behind that door decides to come back.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/nemmoph on 2024-09-11 16:40:30+00:00.

---

When I first met the Pale Man, he wore a suit of deepest black. There wasn’t a speck on it - not even a fleck of dirt from the muddy road he must have walked to reach my father’s pub. He stood out from our regular clientele, who struggled to go an evening without smearing gravy-stained fingers on their trousers or slopping beer down their shirts.

As I watched him effortlessly navigate his way across the packed room, and take a seat at the single empty table, my heart clenched. I’d kill for a suit like that, I thought. A suit that fit me perfectly. A suit made by a tailor instead of my mother cannibalising the clothes my brother had long since outgrown. A suit that would make people pay attention when I walked into the room.

As if I had spoken the words aloud, he locked eyes with me and smiled. Later, he would tell me that I might as well have whispered my desperation into his ear. He hadn’t read my mind - not exactly. “I could smell it from across the room,” he said. “The reek of your hunger.”

But that secret wouldn’t be revealed to me for many years. During the first few minutes of our acquaintance, I was thrilled by his sudden, unexpected attention. When he beckoned me to his table, I all but tripped over my own feet in my haste to reach him.

Up close, he was breathtaking. Auburn hair fell in heavy curls onto his shoulders, and his pale skin was almost pearlescent. His eyes, nearly as dark as his suit, seemed to laugh.

As I took the only other seat at the table, his smile grew wider. Through his parted lips, I saw that his teeth were stained black. It was not the usual decay that afflicted some of our neighbours - it looked as though he had tried to take a bite out of the night itself. I glanced away quickly, feeling ashamed somehow - as though I had peered through a keyhole and glimpsed something I shouldn’t. When I looked back again, I saw his teeth were straight and white. Relieved, eager, I dismissed it as a trick of the shadows.

“You like this?” He motioned towards his suit. I nodded, and he asked, “Would you like one of your own?”

The laughter bubbled out of me before I could stop it. “It matters little what I want - I’ve as much chance of affording one as a cat’s in Hell without claws.”

He tutted lightly. “A rather constrained attitude. In life, half the battle is deciding what you want. So tell me, Peter,” he propped his delicately pointed chin atop his laced fingers, “what do you want?”

Had I paused to question how he knew my name, I would have rationalised that he had heard one of our patrons summoning me back to the bar, demanding a fresh pint of beer. But I didn’t question. The Pale Man was too fantastical a sight - too rich for our humble village, too important to talk with the likes of me. I feared that, should I allow my attention to wander, he would evaporate before my eyes.

So I answered his question.

Of course I wanted the suit. More than that, I wanted one for every day of the week.

Every confession after that first one came easier.

Most people born into our village lived their entire unremarkable lives there. They were christened, married and laid to rest within the small boundaries of the same church and its yard. The thought of following that fate made me feel like I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to escape, to travel dusty roads and churning seas, to see anywhere other than here.

And I wanted to do it comfortably - luxuriously, even. My entire life, I had watched my parents hoard each coin. Usually, it stretched just far enough, but in leaner times they agonised over how it should be spent - one winter, my mother skipped so many meals that she scarcely had the energy to rise out of bed.

I wanted respect, and my own small stock of fame - a name associated with something other than pouring drinks in a dingy pub. Mostly, I wanted to be seen.

All of this burst out of me in a rush. I didn’t care that I might be overheard, and that if my father caught wind of it, he would try to knock such notions out of my head with a sharp clap around the ear. Only two things seemed important: baring my soul to the Pale Man, and keeping my eyes on the table while I did it. At the corner of my vision, I could see his smile growing wider and wider, and a voice in my head I refused to acknowledge even as I obeyed it warned me that should I look, I would see those black fangs again.

When at last I fell silent, the Pale Man said, “Excellent, Peter! See, you’re already halfway there. You know what you want - now you must decide what you’re willing to do to get it.”

For that, I had no response. Dreams were all well and good, but I lived in reality. For a young man of humble origins, the best hope was to strike out for the nearest town and try to forge a life there. But there would be no suits in that future - no ships nor accolades, perhaps not even anything resembling comfort.

The Pale Man leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially into my ear. “What if I told you I could give all that to you? A long life filled with anything you could desire. And not in some dim, distant future, but right now - you could walk out the door and step into a new life.”

I should have laughed, or accused him of mocking me. Instead I had an image of a serpent and an apple, and what our rector might say if he could hear this conversation.

Deep laughter rumbled in his chest. “You give me entirely too much credit! I’m not Him. I’m merely a talented individual in a position to offer you an excellent deal.”

I risked a glance at him. His teeth were thankfully still white, but his eyes had grown sharp - hungry. I wondered whether that expression was mirrored on my own face.

“And what would my end be?”

“Once a year, you will need to complete an errand for me.” He waved an airy hand. “Nothing outside of your capabilities, of course, and you will be able to discharge your duties in a single day. The other three hundred and sixty four days belong to you entirely.”

In my entire life, I hadn’t owned a single day. They belonged to my parents, my brother, and as soon as I was as tall as the tables, the pub’s patrons. Sacrificing one day a year seemed like -

“An excellent bargain?” The Pale Man supplied. “I quite agree. If you wish to accept, we need only drink on it - no, wait!” He plunged a hand into one of his pristine pockets and withdrew a fat, gleaming apple and a silver paring knife. Dropping me an exaggerated wink, he said, “We all must have our little jokes, Peter.”

When he sliced into the apple, I had a sudden suspicion that the flesh inside would be rotten and worm riddled. But it was as crisp and juicy an apple as I had ever seen, the aroma strong enough to make my mouth water.

He cut off two slices and held one out to me across the table. As I reached for it, he pulled it just out of my grasp.

“One more thing: you cannot exit our deal prematurely. We’re entering a contract, of sorts, and it must run for its full term. Is that acceptable to you?”

I plucked the slice from his hand and crammed it into my mouth. Grinning, he did the same.

“Go then, Peter,” he said once he had swallowed, motioning towards the door. “Enjoy your new life.”

Standing up so quickly my chair clattered to the floor, I strode to the door and yanked it open. Just before I stepped over the threshold, a voice whispered in my mind, See you in a year.

As I set out down the road, with nothing more than the clothes on my back, I had no doubts. A single, irresistible urge dominated me: head south. After a mile of following my new compass, I found a young woman stranded by the roadside. She gratefully accepted my offer to escort her to the next village, some three miles further. The walk gave us time to get acquainted. I learnt that she was wealthy and well-connected. She learnt that I was charming and funny - although that was as much a discovery for me as it was for her.

The next week, in the city, I was fitted for my first suit - a gift from the grateful young woman.

The next month, we were married with the blessings of her parents, who were surprisingly willing to allow their daughter to marry a poor man of no name. As a wedding present, they funded a six month tour of the continent. We wondered at ancient ruins and paintings so exquisite they near moved me to tears, slept in sheets softer than anything I could have imagined, and dined with the wealthy friends of her wealthy parents.

They also had friends at home, as I discovered when we returned. Everyone was so eager to help me find a path in life - something on which I could build my name.

By the end of that first year, I had a devoted, newly-pregnant wife, a grand home in the city, and I was in the exciting, early stages of building my reputation. I had all but convinced myself I had imagined the Pale Man, dreamed him up as a way of explaining my incredible good fortune.

But precisely one year after our first meeting, I woke suddenly in our warm marriage bed with the certainty that I was being watched. Unwillingly, I rose and went to the window. When I cracked the curtains, I saw the Pale Man standing with his hand on our gate, wearing his familiar smile.

I wish I could tell you what that first errand was. It appals me that I can’t, but you must understand - I spend the rest of the year trying to forget the one day that belongs to him, and those days he does own have blurred together over time.

Sometimes, the task is simp...

---

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1feeq88/think_twice_before_accepting_the_pale_mans_offer/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/No-Glass-3279 on 2024-09-10 20:06:13+00:00.

---

I was fourteen when my parents sent me to stay with Aunt Meredith and Uncle Cole in Pennsylvania. I looked forward to a few weeks with my cousins, Sara and Ethan, in a town that felt like the perfect escape from the monotony of home. Their neighborhood was quaint—a quiet cul-de-sac with tidy lawns and kids playing until dusk, the kind of place where you’d expect the ice cream truck to make its rounds like clockwork.

Sara and Ethan were only a year or two younger than me, but they had endless energy and a knack for finding trouble. Almost immediately, they introduced me to Henry and Jacob, two boys from a few houses down. Jacob was sixteen, tall, with a sly grin that made you wonder if he was always up to something.

We spent most days exploring the woods of Kimber Hills at the end of the street, a place that felt wild and alive, where every shadow seemed to hide a secret, and every rustling leaf sounded like a hidden creature. I loved the thrill of stepping into the unknown, but one afternoon, as we were getting ready to head out, a woman from the last house on the street called out to us. She had a kind face and silver-streaked hair pulled into a neat bun.

"You kids can play anywhere," she said from her porch. "Even down by the creek. But stay away from Puckett Street."

We stopped, surprised by her tone. Sara gave me a puzzled look. "What’s Puckett Street?" I asked.

The woman’s smile faded. "Just trust me, dear," she said, her voice firm. "You don’t want to go there."

At dinner that night, I brought it up. Uncle Cole was sitting at the head of the table with my aunt to his left. He was usually easygoing, always ready with a joke, but his face darkened at the mention of Puckett Street. He set his fork down with a deliberate clink, eyes narrowing.

“You didn’t go there, did you?” His voice was low, almost a growl.

I shook my head quickly. “No, we didn’t. I just heard about it.”

Aunt Meredith exchanged a look with him, her fingers nervously twisting the napkin in her lap. “Mr. Stimble lives there,” she said softly. “He’s… not a nice man. Likes to keep to himself.”

Uncle Cole leaned forward, his voice firm. “You listen to me. Stay away from Puckett Street. No one goes there. Ever.”

The sternness in his voice sent a chill down my spine. I nodded, too afraid to ask more.

For a few days, we kept to the familiar trails, trying to forget about it. But Jacob was curious. He kept bringing it up in little ways, taunting us about being too scared to find out what was so bad about Puckett Street.

Then, one hot afternoon, Jacob threw a rock into the creek and smirked. “What do you think’s so bad about Puckett Street?” he challenged. “Maybe they’re hiding something, or some old guy just wants his privacy. Either way, I want to know.”

Ethan hesitated. “Maybe there’s a reason everyone says to stay away.”

But Jacob wasn’t convinced. “Come on. Aren’t you curious?”

I felt a pit form in my stomach. I wanted to say no, but I found myself nodding. “Just a look,” I whispered, glancing at Sara, who seemed equally unsure. “And then we go.”

We moved deeper into Kimber Hills, the path narrowing and the trees pressing in close. After about fifteen minutes, we reached it—a fence made of old wood and rusted wire, almost swallowed by ivy and brush. Beyond it, Puckett Street stretched like a forgotten road.

There it was—a small house with cream-colored siding, its faded purple shutters looking out of place. The lawn was too perfect, the rocking chair on the porch swaying slowly despite the stillness of the air.

“See? Just a house,” Jacob scoffed. “Nothing special.”

But everything about the place felt wrong—too quiet, too still. Before any of us could protest, Jacob grinned and darted across the street. “I’m going to knock!” he called back.

We watched, hearts pounding, as he knocked once, twice. No answer. He turned to leave, but then the door creaked open. A massive figure filled the doorway. A hand shot out, grabbing Jacob by the collar and yanking him inside. The door slammed shut, cutting off his scream as quickly as it began.

Henry began pushing me and Sara. “Go, go, go!” he hissed, and we ran, tearing through the underbrush, not stopping until we burst into my aunt and uncle’s house. Breathless and panicked, we blurted out what happened.

Uncle Cole’s face went pale. He grabbed a pistol from the drawer and headed out without a word. Aunt Meredith’s hands shook as she dialed 911.

Hours passed. The sun dipped below the horizon, shadows stretched long and dark across the walls. Henry’s mom came to get him, leaving just Aunt Meredith and me waiting in a heavy, fearful silence.

When Uncle Cole finally returned, he looked shattered. His jeans were smeared with mud, and his shirt was soaked with sweat. His hands trembled, and his eyes were wild, hollow.

“What happened?” Aunt Meredith whispered.

He swallowed hard. “The police broke down the door,” he said, voice barely steady. “Stimble… didn’t answer. They heard screaming—an awful, inhuman sound. They shot him… he’s dead.”

Aunt Meredith gasped, but Uncle Cole continued, “They found Jacob, or… what was left of him. Pieces. Scattered, like something had torn him apart.”

I felt a cold dread settle over me. “Did...Mr. Stimble...?"

Uncle Cole’s eyes were wide and haunted as he shook his head. “There was something in that house," he murmured. "Not a man, not an animal… but something. When they shot Stimble, a door to the attic creaked open… and this… thing came out. Skeletal, thin as bone, eyes burning like embers in a skull. It moved so fast, like a shadow given life, and it took Jacob’s remains back into the attic clutched in it's jaws. The officers… they swear it was some kind of demon.”

He rubbed his face, tears slipping down his cheeks. “No one believes them. No one believes us. But now, with Stimble gone… that thing has no one to control it. No one to feed it.”

Aunt Meredith stood up, shaking. “You’re going home,” she said to me, her voice trembling, exerting what little control she had over the situation. “First thing in the morning.”

I didn’t argue. I could feel the terror in the air, the way it pressed down on us. They put me on the first bus out, and I never went back. Aunt Meredith and Uncle Cole moved soon after, leaving without a trace, just like they had promised.

So, if you ever find yourself in northern Pennsylvania, and see a house with cream-colored siding and faded purple shutters… keep driving. Don’t look back. Whatever’s in that attic is still there, waiting. The caretaker is gone now.

And it’s hungry.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Neil4123 on 2024-09-10 16:48:21+00:00.

---

Growing up in rural Missouri, I lived in a small house at the edge of civilization.  A series of gravel roads winded through the area my house was in, but mine was the only house on our road, and was thus very secluded.  My parents and our mailman were the only ones to use our road at all, it was such a rare event for anyone else to drive by that my parents would always walk to the window and speculate on what the car was doing driving past our house, that’s the level of isolation my childhood home had. 

To the north, east, and west of our house were calm pastures with rolling hills.  Sparse areas of trees littered the pastures, but nothing very dense or large.  Just calm, peaceful hills as far as the eye could see. 

To the south however, was a short area of pasture, maybe 100 feet or so, then miles of dense, thick forest.  An area completely untouched by civilization, unchanged since the arrival of the pilgrims and settlers of centuries past.  It was from these woods that the source of my childhood fear lay dormant, a memory that I had repressed that has recently come out through a series of therapy sessions designed to awaken repressed memories.  Here is the recounting of those events, the best I can remember. 

This was a summer in the mid 90’s, the time just before the advent of the internet would come and take away the desire for kids to play outside a lot.  That wasn’t the case for me, my go to activity was playing basketball outside, especially after dark.  Not only did the darkness provide comfortable temperatures for me to play out the imaginary games and buzzer beating 3’s in my head, but I also appreciated the ambience.  Our large light pole providing a wide, gentle glow, which was all the illumination I would need to play.  I never got much time out in this situation, maybe an hour per night if I was lucky, but these moments are the fondest memories I have of my childhood. 

One such night, as I was imagining myself as an NBA star pulling a sick crossover on Michael Jordan, I noticed a dim light moving through the trees in the south, as if someone was walking through the forest carrying the light source.  From the flickering of the light, it appeared to be some sort of flame on the end of a stick.  I was immediately shaken, my vivid, childhood imagination running wild with what possibilities could be lurking in the darkness. 

Eventually, the torch reached the edge of the woods.  An old woman stood holding the light source at the edge of the trees, the slightly dark tinge of her skin led me to immediately identify her as a Native American.  She wore a very tattered, dirty dress, and wore a crown adorned with deer antlers.  Her eyes held a piercing quality, the type of stare that would make even the most stoic of adults squirm under its gaze, and it was laser focused right on me.  Her mouth opened very slightly, as if to speak. 

“Come...” was all she said, a dark scratchy whisper that reached my ears despite the woman being a good 100 feet from my location. 

For a brief moment, I was frozen.  My heart thudding against my chest harder than I thought was possible.  I SHOULD run into my house, my brain knew that was the smartest course of action, but I felt as if I was not in complete control of my body.  Her whispered “come” constantly scratched an itch in my brain, akin to the most powerful drug you’ve ever taken.  I was unable to resist.  Dropping my basketball, I began to slowly walk towards her, the dull bounce of my basketball hitting the ground and slowly bouncing to a stop the only sound accompanying the dull drone of insects in the night. 

As I approached through the pasture, she turned back into the woods.  She stayed just far enough ahead to keep her torchlight from ever reaching me.  As I strayed away from the light of our driveway, and into the woods, I was completely enveloped in total darkness.  The type of darkness that is only known by those living in God forsaken lands far away from all civilization, where even the light of the stars was not visible due to the canopy above.  The only thing I was able to see was the faint torchlight off in the woods, a beacon that told my feet where to step and kept me marching forward in my entranced state.  

As we marched on, I was overcome by the feeling of being watched.  Surrounded by darkness, and the eyes of a thousand beasts and souls invisible to me. Soon, the crackle of my feet against stones and sticks was accompanied by indistinct whispers coming through the darkness all around me, so faint that I couldn’t even be sure if they were really there at all, or just conjurations of my possessed imagination. 

I walked through the forest following the faint light through the trees for an indeterminate amount of time.  When thinking about it logically it was probably only 10-15 minutes of walking, but in my altered mental state, it felt like hours.   

Eventually, a clearing came into view.  However, as I was about to leave woods and enter the clearing, the woman turned sharply towards me.  During this brief moment I was jarred by the realization that her eyes now had no pupils visible, just the whites of her eyes glared at me, as if they were rolled back into her head.  In the same cold, scratchy voice, she whispered “stop...” I then halted at the edge of the tree line, staring at the faint torchlight and the other creatures it illuminated at the edge of the clearing. 

In addition to the woman, there were two others.  Try as I may, when I’m trying to recall the images of the others, my brain feels like it experiences some sort of glitch, and I’m unable to firmly grasp what I was seeing.  They are merely distorted, vaguely humanoid figures in my field of vision.  Maybe these 2 creatures were men, just like the one I would grow up to become, or maybe their terror and strangeness is beyond what our human minds are able to comprehend. 

The woman turned back and spoke to the others in a strange language involving a series of clicks and whines.  Despite not having ever heard or studied this language, I was able to comprehend its meaning as if I was a fluent speaker. 

“The witness has arrived, begin.” 

A series of guttural, distorted sounds began to emanate from the others.  Almost like the static sound you here coming from a television when the signal is lost, but with a deep, terrifying tinge.  A horrifying darkness descended on the clearing, all stars were blocked, erased by the overwhelming blackness.  Even the torch the woman was holding seemed to dim, where it was only a faint glimmer in the oppressive darkness.  The sounds I had heard surrounding me earlier increased in pitch, leaving no doubt that they were not just objects of my vivid imagination.   

The sounds of the others continued to escalate, increasing in volume and frequency.  As I listened, I felt that my mind was going to pop, that all sanity was leaving my human form and melting into a puddle on the ground beneath me.  I shivered and seized in my standing position, but my eyes remained focused on the small, faint sliver of light given off by the torch. 

Eventually, when I felt that my body and mind could handle no more of this onslaught, a loud “pop” ripped through the air.  The oppressive darkness was not immediately gone, but was slowly fading back to normal levels of reality.  The glow of the torchlight increasing in brightness through the darkness, returning to the point where I was just barely out of its reach at the edge of the clearing. 

The 2 others were gone.  In their place stood a tall figure, easily twice the height of the woman.  A naked humanoid covered in thick hair, composed of oily blackness.  It’s face gaunt and intimidating, with a long beard, and thick deer antlers protruding from its skull.  Its eyes glowed with a dark green, and it turned and met me with those eyes, staring into my very soul. 

Without saying a word, it spoke into my mind, with the deepest, most haunting voice I’d ever heard.  “You will return, when it is time.” 

After the words of the abomination, he and the woman simply vanished from sight. I regained control over my body, and took a seat on the ground, shivering in stunned fear.  The sounds of the woods were back to normal, with birds and insects making their normal sounds.  I even noticed a raccoon or other small critter walking by in the cool night.   

It was there that I waited until a number of flashlights spilled through the trees.  It had been several hours, but I was rescued.  Of course, when my parents noticed I was no longer outside playing basketball, they had briefly yelled for me and then quickly called the police.  A search was organized, and I was eventually found and returned home. 

I suppose it’s not surprising that the level of fear and strangeness I experienced was repressed.  Even when uncovering this memory I feel the same wave of fear.  I question whether it was even real at all, or if I simply had some sort of psychotic break and wandered into the woods on my own accord.  

In spite of this, as I sit here writing this from my childhood memory, I feel drawn again to the woods south of my childhood home.  My parents still live there, I could easily go visit them and take a walk to the clearing again.  In fact, the draw seems almost irresistible, I think, no, I know I will be returning there again this coming weekend...or maybe tonight.  Yes, tonight I’ll return to my parent’s house and walk deep i...

---

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Prestigious-Watch-37 on 2024-09-11 13:59:57+00:00.

---

Series: Part 1, Part 2

I had given an immense amount of thought to how I might kill Toby, but talked myself out of it every time.

The truth was, I wasn't a killer.

It wasn't that I couldn't just grab a knife and hack into Toby's neck. I was certain I was capable of doing that.

The same way I was sure I could, hypothetically, bring myself to humanely slaughter an animal. Like ripping the head off a chicken.

The difference between a chicken or other farm animal was that Toby had a soul. Or something very much like it. The fact he had been able to carry over whatever essence it was to him to my family members was proof that were was something ethereal at work behind the blood, muscle, bone, and nerve endings that makes up human beings.

A chicken I could kill because animals don't have souls, at least not the type that could, possibly, maybe, be of the kind that carry on into some kind of afterlife.

I'm not religious, though my parents were vaguely, culturally Christian.

The more I considered killing Toby, and how I might go about it, the more I had to wrestle with the profound questions that came with taking a life.

The closest I was able to come to convince myself it would be okay to kill Toby, thus potentially severing whatever astral connection he had accidentally (so he said) used to take control of my family, was killing him in self-defense. That I could do.

But that was the problem. Toby wasn't out to kill me.

Weeks ago it had been revealed to me in my bedroom, with Toby-Leigh, and Toby-Mum present, that Toby was a suicide risk.

It was because he had tried and failed to take his own life that this whole mess even got started. He had astral projected into my sister without realising what would happen (again, so he said. But for the most part I did believe him.)

It was possible Toby would kill himself, take his piece off the board, without me having to take matters into my own hands.

A part of me held out hope he might take his own life. At the same time knowing I was hoping for someone to commit suicide sat with me as a constant sickening dread. Never in my life have I wished ill to anyone and I hated that Toby, by his actions, made me wish harm on another person.

I just wanted my family back.

My not-family stopped pretending to be normal around me at home.

Toby-Leigh and Toby-Mum had taken to wearing male clothing, for the most part, instead of anything Leigh and Mum would usually wear. Most days I would find Toby-Leigh sat in her room wearing the same old sweatpants and a large black hoodie. She had started to put on some weight because she ate a lot of junk food whilst she occupied her time playing video games and watching movies.

Toby-Mum was the same. Almost identically so. She spent the majority of her time also in sweatpants, though she had come to favor wearing Mum's usual pink fluffy bathrobe as her comfort-wear of choice. She, like Toby-Leigh, had started to put on weight because she too enjoyed eating an unhealthy amount of junk food.

Toby-Dad did the same thing upstairs in Mum and Dad's bedroom. He just sat in bed, ate junk food (Dad kept the weight off easier because of his job in construction); either watching TV or browsing the internet on his laptop.

The three of them hardly talked to each other except when it came to keeping up appearances outside of the house.

To their credit they were able to pretend to be my family outside of the house to a perfect degree. Toby-Leigh continued to hang out with all her friends, going to parties and on shopping trips. As far as I could tell she took little joy in doing these things, but was able to pretend she was enjoying herself in front of 'her' friends.

But the second Toby-Leigh got home she raced upstairs and changed into the same tired hoodie and sweatpants and kept to herself in her room.

Toby-Mum made outings to catch up with Mum's usual social circle of friends. Keeping up with all the gossip, birthday parties, and so on. Toby-Mum and Toby-Dad even went to a wedding together and pretended to be perfectly normal the entire time; I had gone with them to keep an eye on them, fearing they might become a danger to themselves or anyone that the party who might've seen through the masquerade, but nobody did.

There had been one moment when my Uncle had poked fun at Toby-Dad about something trivial. I didn't catch the start of the conversation though I think it had something do with Mum gaining weight. For a brief moment I saw the killer intent in Toby-Dad's eyes. He had taken hold of the cutlery nearest him at the reception dinner. It wasn't that Toby-Dad was angry about 'his' wife's weight being brought up as a topic of conversation, but I think Toby-Dad was afraid that my Uncle might have put two-and-two together. As soon as Toby-Dad was sure that my Uncle was just making a bad joke, and not actually investigating any strange change in behavior, Toby-Dad put down the knife and simply played along with my Uncle's poorly thought out joke.

I had been on edge for weeks waiting to be woken up in the middle of the night and threatened again, or for something, anything drastic to happen. But nothing did.

I did however stick to the golden rule of spending the majority of my time hanging out with Toby. Mostly this involved me playing video games whilst Toby watched. He became something like a shadow, there but hardly ever talking, just watching. It was like he had possessed this adjacent role in my life, vicariously being around me the majority of the time but never so much that he got in the way.

Never in my life had I met a more nothing of a person. There simply wasn't that much to Toby. He didn't have strong beliefs on things. No hard opinions on books or movies. No funny observations. He ate whatever was easiest to eat. Had given up drawing because he wasn't interested in keeping up the daily grind of getting better. I had spent the best part of two months in his company and hardly felt I knew him any better. At best he brought about a strong sympathy in me for how pathetic and lonely he seemed. I could understand that because (and especially because of everything going on) I felt lonely myself.

I missed my family and my friends. I stopped hanging out with my friends for fear of dragging them into this mess. I'd had to deal with a slew of upset calls and text messages for a few weeks but eventually my friends, each in their own time, gave up trying to hang out with me and seemed to accept that I no longer wanted to spend time with them (of course I wanted to spend time with them, but I loved them too much to drag into the hell that was my life.)

Toby-Dad spent the majority of his time at work. I think the Toby inside of him must have enjoyed the construction job Dad did. Out of the three, Toby-Dad seemed the most at ease stuck in the body he was in. Still being a guy must have also played a big part of that too.

Mum's role of buying groceries and making dinner fell to me. Nothing was said between me and Toby-Mum beyond me asking for money to pay for the groceries. It felt wrong to ask for the money, but I sucked up my pride and asked because I needed to make sure my family had access to regular meals to keep them somewhat healthy. There had been two weeks of nightly takeaway orders delivered to the house, expensive orders. I took it upon myself to do the shopping and to cook the meals to make sure the Toby's didn't bankrupt my family's savings out of sheer laziness.

I had considered learning how to astral project, but an experience I had three months after returning home from university made me decide never to attempt it.

I had finished cooking dinner for everyone, washed up, and spent an extra hour cleaning around the house (they all were happy to live like slobs, but I wasn't.) After putting away the laundry, I tiredly climbed the stairs and went to my room.

I lay in bed for a while staring off into the darkness. Too in my own head to drift off to sleep easily but also too tired to feel up to anything but laying in the dark. I didn't remember falling asleep.

I woke some time during the night and knew right away I wasn't alone in my room. The thing was, I couldn't move at all from the neck down. My face also felt stiff, with just my mouth and eyes moving freely. I was paralyzed.

"Mike?" whispered a voice.

I knew the voice right away. It was Leigh's. Or rather, it must have been Toby in Leigh's body.

"Toby?" I whispered back.

My entire body was rigid, and felt hot under the bed cover. For a moment I feared a repeat of what had happened last time was about to occur. But, from what I could just make out in the near pitch darkness of my bedroom, there wasn't anyone around. Toby-Leigh must have been in my room somewhere, at the far end in the darkness, but I couldn't make her out and I couldn't raise my head or sit up to attempt a better look.

"It's me," said Leigh's voice, "I've missed you so much."

I didn't understand. Toby-Leigh saw me everyday. I had served her dinner earlier at the dining table (the only time my possessed family gathered together in the house anymore was when I presented them with food.)

"I can't move," I whispered, choking the words out with great effort.

"I...

---

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/nubats on 2024-09-10 17:54:12+00:00.

---

My last message feels like an eternity ago, but I'll be able to tell exactly how long when I eventually send this one. Circumstances have changed a bit, but one thing at a time.

I've just now finally found enough protection to risk a new post. Actually, this is probably more of a cry for help, but back to the topic. As it turns out, time didn't freeze permanently after all, the whole phenomenon seems to oscillate. Unfortunately, I can't say at what "correct" intervals this happens, only that the thawed time intervals have never lasted more than about 6 hours up until now. So far, I've experienced two of them.

I've also found out that I'm the only exception to the rules during the time freeze. Whatever I touch becomes part of this exception, and as soon as I let go of it, it is immediately subjected to the strange laws of the environment again. But these things don’t just have to be tangible objects, they can also be physical processes that are normally commonplace, like sound. The reason why I can't hear my own voice most of the time, but can hear the rubbing of my clothes, is because the sound waves and their medium must be in direct contact with me. The surrounding air represents this medium. As soon as the sound waves move too far away from me, so far, I estimate around 15cm, they freeze just like everything else. So, I can hear a dull hum in my chest or the movements of my tongue in my mouth, but my voice has been taken away from me.

In any case, this is at least how I try to explain to myself how the whole situation works and, at the same time, how I fight the part of me that doesn't want to accept it all. But I don't know whether my theories are correct. What also gives me something to think about is the fact that I can use bicycles, but not other vehicles like cars. Perhaps this has something to do with the battery. I can, in fact, use my smartphone without any problem during the time standstill, so I suspect that I must be in direct contact with the energy source, which also my guess as to why the automatic doors didn't work back then. To make them functional again, I would probably have to be connected to the power plant and touch all the live wires. So far, I've stuck to small vehicles, but haven't had much time to study the rules of this phenomenon in more detail, because I'm not alone in here.

My experiences so far were real, as I've discovered. I don't yet know exactly what it is that’s trapped in these phases with me, but with each experience, I have more reason to believe that it doesn't like my company. When I read these last few lines again, I feel a little... let's say unsettled. Not because of their content, more because I sound a little too unstable to myself. I started to construct a lot of “what ifs” in my head that make me doubt that whatever is happening is even real. Maybe that's why I'm writing everything down because it reassures me that my brain isn't winning the tug-of-war against madness. Time is frozen right now and my current location is inside my apartment. I will try to recall the events of the past timewaves as accurately as possible, or at least as much as I can, before I have to move on again. Because it never takes exceptionally long for it to find me, once everything around me stopped moving.

Okay, let's pick up where I left off last time. When I wrote that message, I hid in the luggage storage area of the train station, lying between several layers of suitcases and backpacks, so that I could feel at least a little safe. The looks I received were rather strange when, not long afterward, normal time began to resume, and I suddenly emerged from a mountain of luggage. The way time went back to normal felt like a ramp-up, starting rather slowly but eventually reaching the usual speed.

I must have looked like an undead, at least that's how the events before made me feel, but I have rarely felt as relieved as I did at that moment. A small part of me, looking back it probably was actually the largest part, hoped that this would have been a one-off experience, but as you can see from these lines, it wasn't.

My next stop was the apartment, a warm bath and several irrelevant videos from the Internet were definitely necessary to digest the shock. The train ride and the short walk there had no reason to feel so carefree, not after everything that had happened before. When I got home, I was immediately overcome by a feeling of relief and a small, gentle laugh began to tremble in my chest. This time I could for sure hear it, louder and louder and, with more relief, I let the laughter flow freely until my ribs began to cramp and my lungs could no longer get enough air. Slowly, the events before moved into the less relevant areas of my brain and the adrenaline finally stopped, so I decided to prepare my well-deserved bath.

At this point, I was not yet aware of the danger of my situation; how could it have been? As far as I knew, the incident could have been just a one-time event or one of my usual changes in perception, with perhaps a little more spice than usual. The warm water with the aroma of roses greeted me with a gentle hug, washing away the horror of the last "hours". The more I thought about it, the stranger the situation seemed to me, but first came relaxation, then I could worry again. The bath went without any notable incidents, relaxed and relieved, I got out of the tub, the fluffy bathrobe was already ready and calling me to it. Wrapped up and comfortable, I left the bathroom, quickly pressing the button that opened the tub drain on the way out, which made a faint gurgling noise every time.

It got louder as my still slightly damp feet carried me into the kitchen. Without thinking too much about the noise, I reached for the toaster, threw two slices of bread in and let them bake. The noise from the bathroom had already reached a strangely loud level by then. Maybe something was caught in the drain, so I made my way back into the bathroom when I noticed something. The water wasn't going down the drain. A waterspout-like whirlpool swept through the tub, hurling drops across the room with a wind that almost knocked me off my feet and found its end in the inlet opening. The wild movements slowly died down the closer I fought my way to the little wet tornado. It soon stood almost completely still, the outer surface shimmering in a bluish silver tone that reflected a distorted version of me. The slurping sound of the water being pushed back into the pipe also quieted down when I reached out for it. Slowly, the sounds of the roaring and slurping merged into a kind of noise, like you hear on old TVs, until my hearing was able to filter out something. It was speaking. Like thousands of little demons in purgatory, tortured screams mingled together, all screaming the same thing at slightly different times.

"You can't delay!"

"You can't delay!"

"You can't delay!"

Even though I didn't know what it meant, the screams put me into a kind of trance, more and more each time they spoke, drawing me to the whirlpool and asking me to get in. Almost out of control, my head headed towards the faucet, something inside me wanted to reach for the tornado. It seemed so beautiful, so warm, so calm. The sounds continued to wash over me like a wave of honey, swallowing me whole in its beautiful noises. It would take away all my worries, it told me. I believed, not being able to find a reason for it to lie. With every sweet cry and every second that passed, the desire to dive into it grew stronger.

"Join us!"

"Join us!"

"Join us!"

Those screams seemed different from before, the sweet tone all of a sudden deep and yearning. The deliriousness cleared just a bit but enough, that my brain could begin replaying the fresh memory of my experiences during the time break. What if this moment was part of it too? What if it could influence things outside of a time anomaly as well? No, I couldn't give in. I couldn’t fall for the beautiful sounds of its sirens. With the last of my willpower, I was able to break the spell and almost fell over, but just managed to stumble to the button and close the drain.

Immediately, the water feature disintegrated before my eyes and was soon nothing more than a quiet puddle. Only then did I feel my heart racing and the ice-cold feeling running down my backside, which must have been there for a while because my back felt frozen solid to the touch, as if all blood circulation had been interrupted. There was something in this water and I urgently needed to get away from it. I practically rushed out of the bathroom as fast as I could, slamming the door as if my life depended on it. My hands found support on the wardrobe in the hallway, and I was able to breathe a sigh of relief for a moment, then my skin began to itch.

That’s right, I had bathed in that water before. Perhaps whatever was in it had settled on my skin? I had also drunk from it. Maybe it was now decomposing my lungs from the inside? An inner panic of unimaginable proportions began to wash away the warm feeling of the bath before and replaced it with sheer fear, but I had already been through enough. I needed to calm down and told myself that I would be safe within my apartment, that I had only been confused and out of sorts from my previous experiences during the timestop and that the symptoms o...

---

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/peebloescobar on 2024-09-11 07:57:35+00:00.

---

DON'T LOOK BACK.

DON'T LOOK BACK.

As I crossed the same Peepal tree on my left for the 7th time, I tried hard to NOT turn right again at the crossroad ahead me.

"Fuck! There it is again", my boyfriend, Advait, whispered in my left ear, pointing to a stone temple coming up to our right just before the turn. He was sitting behind me on the old grey moped we had rented for the weekend just that evening. We loved exploring rural parts of India whenever we could. I saw the same temple on my right again for the 7th time. Getting closer and closer. It had carvings on its walls. I couldn't tell what they were though. In the darkness of the night, with the moon shining above, it just looked like an abandoned temple. The moonlight highlighting some uneven surfaces of the carvings.

As we reached the crossroad and I tried hard to keep going straight, the front wheel of the moped turned right. Again. My heart skipped a beat.

"Why are you doing that, Avni?", my boyfriend panicked. "You took the right again!"

"I...I swear I didn't", I cried, my hands trembling on the handle. Tears rolled down my cheeks. "I didn't, Advait".

YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO LOOK BACK.

DON'T LOOK BACK.

My grandma's words kept buzzing in my mind. I remembered her beautiful face with a gold nose-ring shining in the light of a flickering lantern hanging in the corner of the bedroom. "It's called a Chakwa", she'd told me with her eyes so wide that I could almost see the full round of her pupils. She used to apply a thick line of black Kohl under her eyes and a big red circular Bindi on her forehead. She was a loving, kind woman (perhaps the only woman who loved me as much as my mother); but the Kohl and the Bindi made her look scary when she told me horror bedtime stories. I loved how they added to the experience as I hid beneath the blanket giggling, too scared but equally curious to hear the stories.

"They say if you are ever stuck in a Chakwa, don't look back. Just keep going. If you're walking, keep walking. If you're on a cycle, keep cycling. Don't stop. Don't get down. Or else..."

"Or what, Nani?", I asked with only my eyes peeping from the blanket.

"Or you'll never get out of there! Not until someone else intervenes to get you out", Grandma said. Something troubled her as she said it. My young brain couldn't comprehend it. But I still knew a sad, troubled face when I saw one. She looked up at me and forced a kind smile. "Just remember, keep going and..."

"And don't look back", I followed.

The memory of her etheral beauty and her words faded away as I turned right, putting the temple behind us yet again.

"Advait, listen to me. I think I know what's happening. My Nani had told a story... It's called a Chakwa...We are basically... stuck... like in time."

I didn't know if I was making any sense. I couldn't really think straight to be honest. I was scared. I didn't know if this was it- the Chakwa. It had to be. It was similar to all the stories I had heard about it so many times before from my Grandma.

"So, look, I am going to keep riding. It will stop eventually. I don't know when. Just don't look back, okay? No matter what," I said, more composed than before.

We stayed quiet for the rest of the ride, as we kept crossing the same places and took the same turns. It had to be very late at night. There were no cars crossing us. No one walking by. The houses and huts we crossed didn't have any lights on. Nobody stayed up late in the villages. I knew that. But it felt as if nobody was even in the houses- awake or asleep. The only lights were the ones on the road, unevenly spaced, leaving patches of darkness with only the moonlight to accompany us. The air was getting cooler. I could hear Advait sniffing his nose and breathing heavily behind me in the quiet. Was he crying? He had checked our phones a couple of times by then but we both didn't have cellular network. Our moped made a sound that creaked and echoed. And that was the only sound we heard.

Time kept passing. Or it didn't? But it felt like forever. Just as we were getting used to this abnormal ride, I saw a figure walking in front of us. It looked like a man, appearing blurry. Just when he crossed a street light, I noticed his white long shirt and a loose white pajama. He had grey hair. He walked slowly, slightly limping, with his hands dangling on either sides.

"Should we talk to him?", Advait asked me, noticing what I had.

"Yeah", we approached him, our moped just a few feet away from him. I kept riding slowly, so as to not stop.

"Uncle, we are lost. Can you please help us?", Advait said aloud. But the man didn't stop. Or even turn. "Uncle?", Advait called out again. No acknowledgment.

"Why won't he look at us?", Advait whispered.

Something felt wrong. Was he deaf? Was he drunk? Or high? Or a mad man? I decided to slowly ride past him. As we crossed him, he didn't so much as even glance our way. Just kept walking. His eyes staring straight ahead.

"This is weird", I said, and decided to not get further involved. I rode ahead slowly. But what if his intervention could get us out of here? If only he intervened. Just to give it another shot, since we were worn out and exhausted, I looked at my side mirror to spot him behind us. He wasn't there.

My heart tightened in my chest. I had looked back and he wasn't there. Did it count if I looked back through the mirror? Where had he gone? He was right there just a second ago!

I saw the stone temple ahead again. I was losing hope. Advait had gone silent. We had been here for what seemed like eternity. Something else was riding my moped. Something else was controling this. I felt helpless. Would it be morning soon? Would someone see us then?

Just then, as we approached the crossroad, a car with bright headlights approached from ahead. Indians never keep their headlights low, do they? Unable to see clearly because of the brightness as it approached us, I slowed down. The car stopped a few feet ahead of us. A man popped out his head and a hand from the driver seat window and yelled, "Dapoli! Which road goes to Dapoli?"

Something felt different suddenly. Like a weight had been lifted off of us. As if the air was somehow lighter, warmer.

"We don't know. Maybe that one?," I yelled back, pointing towards the road on the left.

"Okay, thanks!", the man replied. "Where are you guys headed at 4 in the morning?"

"Ho...hotel Rajtara", Advait replied, as if trying to remember if that was indeed our destination.

"Oh, I think I just crossed it. Well, thanks again. Be safe." He drove off into the direction I had pointed.

Advait and I headed towards the road straight ahead. Both of us holding our breath to see if we turned right again after the temple. We didn't. Ee reached out hotel. Went to our small room. And fell on the bed. I don't even remember how we got to the room. I don't remember when I fell asleep.

The next day, we woke up to the sound of a group of people laughing and talking beneath our room window. The sunlight came in through the sheer curtains, making our room hot. We were tired. I checked my phone. 13:08. We freshened up in silence. No words exchanged. And went downstairs towards the outdoor dining area where the group of people were.

As we crossed the parking lot to get to the dining area, something made Advait stop near our moped. He glanced down at the speedometer and then back at me with confusion and horror.

"Avni, when we got the moped yesterday at the rental place, do you remember the kilometer reading the guy marked down before handing it to us?"

"No, but he wrote it down on our receipt. Let me see." I hurried into the pocket of my track pant which I hadn't changed and took out the receipt. "48,287. Why, what's the matter?"

"That's impossible", he said, barely audible.

"What happened, Advait?", I went over to him and checked the kilometer reading on the speedometer.

48,303.

Just 16 kms for almost a night full of traveling?

Advait and I went to the owner of the hotel, Ram dada, to talk to him. We were confused. Scared. Surely, we thought, we were not the only ones to experience this?

"Long ago, in the same ancient stone temple, there lived an old man known as Pandit Vishram, a deeply spiritual man who had served the temple since his youth. He was a well-respected figure in the village, offering guidance and prayers to those who sought it. But beneath the surface of his serene exterior, there was a haunting secret, one that the villagers were unaware of..." Ram dada said, with a fluent ease of having reiterated the tale many times before.

"Pandit Vishram had once been in love. In his younger days, he had fallen deeply for a woman from a neighboring village. They had planned to marry, but due to a cruel twist of fate, she passed away suddenly, leaving him devastated. Heartbroken, Vishram turned to the temple for solace, believing that serving the gods would help him find peace. He never married, devoting his life to the temple and hiding his pain from the world.

"Years passed, but Vishram could never let go of the love he lost. He became obsessed with the idea of reuniting with her in the afterlife. According to old, forbidden texts, he discovered that if one performed a certain ritual on the temple grounds during an eclipse, the barrier between the living and the dead could be broken.

"Consumed by this desire, Vishram secretly prepared for the ritual. On the night of t...

---

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/GeneralP123 on 2024-09-11 05:08:18+00:00.

---

If you ever see a man that looks like a Gandalf rip-off holding a "Gift Or Curse" sign, just turn around and pretend you didn't notice him.

As random as this advice sounds, it will save your life if you choose to follow it.

I wasn't so lucky, no one was there to tell me to just avoid the odd eighty year old wizard, instead I chose the wrong option and gave in to my curiosity.

You see, months ago I just finished work and was walking back home, but then an unusual sight caught my attention, standing right next to the nearby grocery store was a frail old man with an incredibly long gray beard wearing a cheap blue wizard robe and a matching pointy wizard hat, when I say cheap, I mean it looked like something a kid would buy at the costume store for Halloween, it definitely wasn't something I'd expect a man that looked to be well into his eighties to be wearing.

More importantly, his shaky hands were holding a small wooden sign, "Gift or Curse" was written on the sign in big red letters.

I couldn't resist, so I immediately walked up to the man and asked "So, are you providing a service?"

The man instantly responded "Oh I wouldn't say it's a service, you have to pay for a service, what I'm offering is free!" he said with a cheerful tone.

"Alright, I'm interested, tell me more." I said, genuinely curious.

The man put the sign down and calmly said "What I'm offering is a game, you can choose to play it or you can just walk away, naturally, if decide to give it a shot and play the game, you will either win or lose, if you win you will get a great prize, but if you lose you will receive an equally great punishment."

"Perfect, so can you tell me what those prizes and punishments are?" I asked.

The old man smiled and said "The prize is the ability to see warnings of the future, the punishment, however, is the ability to see creatures that exist far beyond the mortal plane."

"Yup, he's definitely crazy" I thought to myself.

The old man reached into his right pocket and showed me a plastic card, "Certified Wizard" was written on the card.

The so called "Certified Wizard" winked at me and said "As you can see, I'm a real wizard, my game is real as well, best part about the game is the fact that it's completely luck based, just shake my hand and I'll know if you won or lost, think of me as a human slot machine."

I was stunned by his confidence, he was telling me insane things, yet he seemed to be so clear-headed and coherent.

The strange man offered me a handshake, curiosity got the better of me, so I accepted it, his grip was surprisingly strong, but he almost immediately let go of my hand.

Calmly, he said "It's done, now you can figure out if you're a winner or a loser!"

Before I could even think of an acceptable response, he quickly grabbed the sign from the ground and walked away, as soon as I blinked he was gone.

I didn't know what to think, was I just too tired after a long day, so I hallucinated a wizard out of sheer exhaustion?

I wish that was the case, instead I quickly realized what happened was undisputably real, even worse, I thought I lost the game.

I decided to ignore the whole experience and just go home, but for some unknown reason I had an urge to look behind me.

I turned around, about ten feet behind me was an odd creature, it's body was that of a mangled and twisted human being, it's face was horribly disfigured and covered in dozens of bloody wounds, it was missing one of it's eyes while the other one was bulging and bloodshot, the creature's jaw looked like it was shattered by a sledgehammer, blood was dripping from it's scarred mouth, it's tongue was hanging out of it like a dead earthworm, the creature just stood there, frozen in place, staring at me with it's barely functional eye.

I almost vomited as soon as I saw it, so I quickly averted my gaze, based on the reactions of the people around me, I was the only person capable of seeing the creature.

Days passed after this incident, the creature would appear randomly when I least expect it, sometimes I would see it in the mirror standing right next to me, but more commonly I'd see it in the corner of the room, just standing there and staring at me like it always does.

The creature, even though harmless on paper, was destroying my mental state, I couldn't even sleep without seeing it in my nightmares.

My last encounter with the creature was the most meaningful one, It was an average day like any other, I was just about to cross the street, but before I could do that I received the all too familiar urge to look behind my back, as soon as I did, I unsurprisingly saw the creature once again which in turn caused me to walk away as fast as I could, completely disregarding the fact that I was crossing the street at a red light.

I don't even remember the car that hit me or how painful the hit itself was, but I do remember waking up in the hospital, feeling like every inch of my body went through a meat grinder.

Later on, the doctor explained to me that I was lucky to be alive, the truck that hit me has left my body in an almost unrepairable state, It would be easier for me to list the parts of my body that aren't fractured, because there's very few of them left.

As soon as the doctor let me take a good look at myself in the mirror, the only eye I had left twitched as I slowly realized that I didn't lose in the wizard's game, after all.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/SalamiMommie on 2024-09-10 21:47:20+00:00.

---

I went to a local coffee shop in a town I was visiting on a business trip. The barista was listening to some folky music I’ve never heard before. She had black hair and glasses. She seemed rather shy. I could tell by how she looked at me, she thought I was a handsome fella.

Of course I am, I’m a former college football player and rather successful businessman. I was dressed rather nicely and carried myself well. I walked up to her and looked at the menu.

“Tell you what, darling. How about you surprise me. Make something you think I’d like.”

She looked towards the blackboard a minute. “Hmmm. I can do that. What size would you want?”

“Large.”

“Gotcha, okay $6.50.” Damn these coffee prices. She turned around the screen once I handed her my card so I would pick a tip. Damn these too. I clicked the 20% button.

“Coming right up. I’ll bring it to you.”

I walked over to a table and pulled my laptop out. Figured I could knock out some work since I had some free time. I looked around and noticed I was the only customer.

“Here you are.” She sat down a warm coffee in a white mug in front of me. The color was Carmel brown and had an extremely sweet smell to it.

I was reading a report and pulled it up to my lips. I couldn’t believe it, it had to have been the best cup of coffee in my life. It went down my body so warmly and made me feel like warm honey was running through my body. I began drinking it as quickly as a thirsty man would drink water.

I looked up at the barista and she gave me a shy smile. She spoke to me but her lips weren’t moving. It’s like my brain was registering what she was saying. Gosh, she was beautiful. She had to have been the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

“I need you to take care of my ex boyfriend and his girlfriend. She was once my friend.” She looked down at a knife on the counter in front of her.

I couldn’t do that. There’s no way I could. I felt my body moving though. I had no control over my legs. I walked over to her and picked the knife up. I tried to stop myself, but I couldn’t.

She looked back up at me and her eyes were pure black. I felt terrified but even more so how I still thought she was gorgeous and lovely. Her lips still didn’t move.

“Take care of them.” I watched her drop a small airplane bottle in the trash can behind her while she kept eye contact with me.

She looked down at it and back at me, “don’t worry about that potion. It’s already in effect.”

I began to walk out of the shop and got in my car. She never gave me the address but I knew where to go. My body just knew which directions to go.

I kept trying to tell my body to stop but I had no control. I pulled up a nice apartment complex and found myself walking up to room 170.

I knocked on the door and a skinny man with a scraggly beard opened the door. He looked at me. “Whatcha want?”

That’s all he said before I plunged the knife into his stomach. He looked up at me with fear and I spoke to him.

“You always said you’d love me until you die.” I jerked the knife out. He turned to run but I grabbed him and got him in the back a couple times. He fell on the ground and tried to crawl. I kicked his head.

I heard a scream as I seen his new girlfriend standing in horror. She had a towel wrapped around her. It fell off as I grabbed her by the arm and drove the knife into her chest.

I spoke up again. “How could you betray me? You were my best friend!” She dropped.

I turned back to the guy and screamed. “You gave me your heart and I’m taking what is mine.”

I cut him open and jerked his heart out. I stepped out of the house and threw it in the parking lot.

A woman walking by seen me covered in blood and screamed. She ran and pulled her phone out.

The barista came walking by and picked up the heart. She looked at me. Her mouth never opened once.

“Thanks for the help. Maybe I’ll come and get you one day.” She walked off.

I looked down at my hands and screamed. The horror of what I had done kicked in and I began to vomit.

I can hear the police sirens now. Please be cautious when you order coffee.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Sensitive_Mango9944 on 2024-09-10 19:40:06+00:00.

---

The call came through at precisely 12:13 AM. The dispatcher was met with a cacophony of fear and confusion. The caller’s voice was frantic, barely coherent.

“Help! Someone—please, help! There’s a little girl outside... she’s... she’s just standing there, staring. Oh God, I think she’s...”

The line crackled. For a moment, there was silence, then the voice returned, now barely a whisper, choked with terror.

“She’s... smiling at me. Her eyes—there’s nothing in them. Just dark... endless voids. She’s not real. She can’t be real. I hear whispers—she’s not alone. Please, you have to come now. I don’t... I don’t know how much longer I can—”

The call ended abruptly with a horrifying, guttural sound—a strangled gasp that echoed with a final, chilling finality.

Officer Jackson and Officer Martinez arrived at the scene, their unease palpable as they approached the house. The Victorian structure loomed like a mausoleum in the moonlight. The front door was ajar, creaking as it swung with the breeze.

Inside, the house was oppressive. The air felt thick, almost tangible. Dust hung in the stale, cold air, and every sound seemed magnified—footsteps, whispers, and the distant groan of the house settling.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” Jackson called out, his voice echoing eerily. The only answer was a deep, unsettling silence.

In the dim light of the living room, they found her. The girl stood motionless, her white dress stained and torn. Her eyes, dark and hollow, seemed to absorb the light, and her smile was unnervingly wide, stretching beyond the limits of human anatomy.

“Are you lost?” Martinez asked, his voice trembling. The girl’s gaze was fixed on them, and though she didn’t move, her eyes seemed to follow their every step.

Jackson’s flashlight swept the room, revealing a disturbing sight. A trail of blood led from the hallway into the kitchen. As they entered the kitchen, the horror became apparent—the caller lay lifeless in a pool of blood, their body disfigured in a grotesque manner. The face was frozen in a horrific, silent scream.

The officers secured the area, calling for backup. As they searched the house, the oppressive atmosphere grew heavier. Shadows seemed to flicker and move with a malevolent purpose, and every creak and groan of the house felt like a whisper of something sinister lurking just out of sight.

The search yielded nothing. The girl was gone, and there was no sign of her departure. The house was eerily pristine, untouched by her presence. The blood in the kitchen was real, but there were no clues, no indications of a struggle. It was as if she had vanished without a trace.

The most chilling discovery was the 911 call still playing on the caller’s phone. The recording looped endlessly, the caller’s voice growing more distorted and unnatural with each repetition. The words became a nightmarish chant:

“She’s inside... she’s everywhere... she’s... watching us...”

As the officers left the house, the weight of what they had witnessed hung over them. The house stood abandoned, a dark and malevolent presence in the night. The unsettling silence of the place seemed to pulsate with an otherworldly energy, as if the walls themselves were alive with dread.

In the quiet of the night, if you listen closely, you might hear the faintest whisper of the caller’s last, tortured plea—a chilling reminder that some horrors are not just witnessed, but experienced in the very fabric of reality. The girl’s presence lingered, a shadow in the dark corners of the mind, a reminder that some evils are too profound to ever truly escape.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/sum1inatree on 2024-09-10 18:46:06+00:00.

---

Hi guys, posting this here as I’m hoping someone might be able to help. Given the kind of stuff you talk about, I’m guessing one of you might have had a similar experience.

For context, I’m a 26 year old man and a little under 5 foot 8. I’ve always been a bit heavier than most. “A bit like a ball,” my parents used to say and I still probably do carry a bit too much weight for where I should be in my life right now. I mention this really only because suddenly, I don’t look like this. No-one says I look different in person, and in photos I still look normal – if a bit awkward. But in the past week, my reflection is…different. Like, really different. A different person, and it’s making me do things I do not want to do.

I was out a few days ago, it was nothing more than a couple of drinks. Honestly, I was sober, I could have driven if I had to. I got home, went to splash some water over my face and brush my teeth before bed and it was just there in the mirror. A long man. I caught my first sight of a gaunt face.

I recoiled and threw my hands down. Staring back at me was a different man. Skin clung to his cheek bones. His hair parted naturally and beautifully to the left. But most of all I remember his eyes. They were definitely my eyes, deep and brown and maybe a bit tired, but they framed a pointy nose and stared at me with no emotion. They were a good two inches higher than they should have been. I was looking up at myself but it wasn’t me.

I blinked. I remember blinking a lot. And every time I opened my eyes, I’d see his eyes flickering open again. I raised my hands over my eyes and he would do the same. His hands. They were delicate and bony, longer and thinner than mine but they would move with mine, and like mine do. I broke my little finger when I was a teenager and I still can’t fully extend it. This long man in the mirror couldn’t either. It sat there slightly crooked but otherwise pristine.

The only thing that did not mirror me was his smile. He had one, a slight trace of a smirk, or contentment, or something else like that. It just sat there, never moving, no matter how I contorted my face. If I tilted my head, he would track me, but that smirk just sat there.

At first I thought I had drunk more than I thought so I decided to just write it off. It’s me being silly, or some kind of pre-sleep dream. I turned out the light and went to bed without brushing my teeth. I just wanted to fall unconscious and forget about it; it would be better in the morning. I’d had a few drinks, the mind does strange things.

Of course, I lay awake most of the night. There’s a mirror on a shelf in my room. I tried to sleep with my back to it.

I don’t know if any of you have ever tried to get ready in the morning without seeing your reflection. It’s quite difficult. I decided I didn’t need to shave and I brushed my teeth with my eyes closed. There was curiosity in me but I was just too scared of what I would do if I confirmed that the long man was still there. I was tired, and I wasn’t thinking straight. What would I even say to people if they asked why I looked so hollow that day? I suppose I would have just said I was hungover. In my head, it was just better to pretend that it hadn’t happened.

The only time I saw myself that morning was a quick glance in the mirror that sits on the inside of my wardrobe door when I went to get my coat. I don’t remember it well, but looking back, when my shoulder brushed against the glass, my reflection that touched it was half a foot further up the image.

Luckily I walk to work. I kept my eyes fixed on the pavement for the whole journey. It wasn’t until I needed the loo in the office that I had to come face to face with myself – or this new version of myself. I waited until I thought no-one else was in the toilets – should the worst happen, I didn’t want to seem like a madman.

I washed my hands and there he was again, staring back at me. This long man, with the same eyes but greater height and the same body but leaner. That fixed smile was still there but now the lips were slightly pursed. He looked happier than he had the night before. Even though I had tried to steel myself for the moment, I still flinched slightly, but that smile soothed me enough to regain some composure. For the first time I properly took in the long man’s physique.

Every here and there there was some similarity to me. As I said, he still had my eyes; and he wore my clothes. They hung off him a bit more and a slight sleeve bulge suggested more tone in his arm muscles than mine but they were recognisably the same; the hint of yellow on the inside of the collar from overwearing the shirt. The crooked little finger of the left hand. I remember that in that moment I felt almost reassured. His presence was calming, and he looked like me, but a bit better.

What shocked me was when I looked more closely into his eyes. I brought my face right into the mirror to see how similar our skin was, whether there was the hint of the growing crows feet I had started noticing. And it was there that I saw his mouth more closely.

In that slight crack between the long man’s lips, I could see the edge of a couple of teeth. For the first time there was a tangible difference between us. Each edge was set diagonally. They were jagged and though I couldn’t see the whole of them at that time they looked to all the world like fangs.

My own mouth dropped open. I wish I could say it was deliberate, that I was trying to get the long man to confirm what was in his mouth, but no, I was just dumbstruck. My hands involuntarily jumped up to run fingers over my own teeth. They felt normal but as I glanced back at the mirror, at the long man’s hands trying to feel for his, all I saw was his hands disappear behind those lips – those unmoving lips. It looked like a mistake with greenscreen or something, nothing like anything I’ve seen in real life.

I turned my head and just ran out the door. I leaned on the wall outside the toilets and tried to dry my hands on my trousers. One of my colleagues walked past and asked if the dryer was broken. I heard the words “no, I’m just miles away,” fall out of my mouth. He asked if I was ok and I nodded in silence as he disappeared through the door.

I thought I was going mad and I don’t know if anyone else has ever experienced this but I felt like I just clicked into autopilot. I went straight back to my desk and asked the guy sitting next to me that day to take a picture of me. I made up some rubbish about needing to update my work profile picture. He huffed and agreed. We found a blank wall for me to stand in front of and he snapped a quick, poorly framed image. I didn’t care.

“Do you want several?” he asked in a friendly enough way.

“How does it look now?” I replied quickly, very quickly.

“Well you look like you,” he glanced down at the picture and I exhaled audibly, “are you sure you don’t want to do this a different day, though? You look pretty tired.”

“No, that’s fine thanks, thank you.”  And I did mean it. I looked at the picture and saw myself. No strange teeth, no extra inches, just me. At that point I didn’t know what to feel, but I could sense adrenaline slowly blending back into the background and my mind becoming clearer.

My first thought was one of pure social embarrassment and I made a mental note to change my profile picture immediately. If anyone asks why it was such a bad photo of me, I could say someone had stolen my face online and was posing as me. I simply had to change it immediately. That would make sense, wouldn’t it? And it wasn’t a million miles from what I thought was happening.

My second thought brought back my fear. What was actually happening? I decided I would wait a bit and go back to the bathroom. Maybe the night before I had been drunker than I thought and now I was tired and so worked up about it that I’d seen what I wanted – or rather really did not want – to see. After all, now I had confirmation – a picture no less! – that I was still me. And though I didn’t really know anyone well in the office, no-one had called me out as an imposter.

Well, I’m writing this now for a reason, aren’t I? The fucking long man was there in the mirror, smiling away at me. His two eyes looked down on me with a new frown above them. He didn’t look calming anymore. My blood chilled and though before I felt ill at ease, now all of a sudden I felt genuinely threatened, like a police officer or soldier was looming over me, holding me at gunpoint. I picked up my hand to see if his finger was still crooked before slapping myself, cleanly and loudly, in the cheek, trying to knock some sense into me.

I shook my head before looking back up at the mirror. The frown had gone but the long man remained. I just couldn’t do it any more. I marched straight out the toilets and to my desk to pack my things, muttering to anyone who needed to know that I’d be working from home the rest of the day – I had some plumbers coming to fix some stuff in the bathroom. No-one really minded and I knew one missed afternoon of work would have no ill effects in the long run. Admin jobs right?

I went straight home, shut all the blinds so they wouldn’t start reflecting into the room when the sun set and threw towels or sheets or whatever else I could find over every reflective surface in the flat. I got straight into bed. I didn’t eat anything, didn’t drink anything, just lay there staring at the ceiling for hours before exhaustio...

---

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1fdping/who_is_the_long_man/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/keanojeano on 2024-09-10 23:06:12+00:00.

---

Previous Post

It's been two weeks since what happened.

The cold moonlight glistening off my wife's gleaming smile and glistening off her black orbs of eyes.

It cradled in her arms.

Its eyes, vacuous yet infinite, hosting some primordial presence, its origin not of this world. I had taken a glance into the void of the eyes, and something looked back at me.

The night replays in my head every waking moment since then in such intense detail. I had considered the possibility I was just going plain insane. I had a loving wife and child, and my mom lied to me. There was never any miscarriage - there was no Daryl-to-be a year ago, just Daryl from four months ago. That night must have been some horrible, hyper-realistic dream.

Of course, I was bullshitting myself. It was all too real. All too vivid.

As I maintained my facade around Clara and the entity, my mind would race with questions, but one question raised itself higher among others: What the fuck happened between the miscarriage a year ago, and four months ago?

Any attempt at remembering resulted in the same mundane memories resurfacing: working; watching movies with Clara at home; generally just living life as normal. When asked, Clara would say the same. Yet there was some cloudiness - a murkiness - above it all. A film that hung over it, blurring the image of my memory. The mundane had blended together in such a nondescript way, and no single event stood out from its fog. I found it hard to believe absolutely nothing of note took place in that time. And then poof, suddenly we have a child.

I then got the idea that whatever this thing is, if it could brainwash my wife, who's to say it can't alter memory too?

I had checked my phone gallery between that time. I figured this would be a decent way to find anything, as I'm not the sort to go through old pictures in my gallery often. All the pictures were that of the mundane I described before: pretty clouds, good food, me and Clara doing what husband and wife do. But Clara looked off. Her smiles looked sad. Forced. Some deep sadness had burrowed itself into her eyes. The kind of sadness that transcends expression. I could feel it when I looked at her, even through the screen. This wasn't definitive, though. That sadness was likely spawned from the miscarriage, but I was still operating on assumption.

There had to be something in the house to prove the miscarriage - a doctor's report, pictures, anything. I was hoping for anything real and substantial to pierce the fog in my head. I checked older medical documents from last year's 8th of May, which would have been Daryl's original date of birth. No records indicative of a miscarriage or complications whatsoever. Did it make Clara destroy the documents? It wasn't out of the question, seeing as how much of a grip it had over her already.

And then I found it.

A Polaroid picture stashed away in a drawer in the bedroom.

It was that of a starry night sky, a brilliant white moon in its centre. Silhouettes of pine trees bordered the frame of the picture, faintly illuminated by a warm orange glow, likely from a campfire.

It was at that moment that the fog cleared. The veil obscuring my memory had been torn apart, and all it took was a single Polaroid picture.

That night, me and Clara went camping in the woods. It was one of her favourite activities before the miscarriage. She was so stricken with grief after the miscarriage that she had relegated herself to two places: her office, and her home. I hoped this trip would bring some life back in her eyes. She always loved the beauty of the natural world.

We hiked the trail until we reached where we planned to make camp. A cozy clearing, surrounded by magnificent pine trees. We set up our tent and put together a modest campfire beside it along with a convenient log nearby which would serve as seating. We threw in some loose dead wood to serve as kindling. As the sun began to set, me and Clara sat on the log, her head on my shoulder, my head against hers, bundled in the same blanket that we would bundle "Daryl" in. We watched the fire dance as it crackled and snapped. Clara let out a relieved, relaxed sigh, as if everything would be alright in the end as she burrowed her head into me. We would stay there, just sitting, for a while. I remember thinking how I wouldn't mind just staying like that, forever.

"You wanna talk about what's on your mind?" I said, stroking her hair.

"Just hoping that one day I'll be able to go back to normal. That I'll be able to feel like something wasn't ripped straight out of my chest. That this empty pit will ever be filled again. I... I just wanted to right by Daryl so, so bad... And now, I may never be able to have a child. Ever."

"Clara, I-"

"But I still have you."

She looked up at me. Her eyes, full of that light again. And a smile. A genuine, warm smile that could melt a glacier. She leaned in to give me a peck on the lips, and continued to rest against me. We looked to the sky that was now a tapestry of black speckled with white. And in the middle of it all, the moon, hanging proud and regal over us. That was when I took the picture that made me remember all this.

Before we dozed off by the fire, as cozy as we were, we figured it would be best to sleep in the tent. We dragged ourselves, half-asleep, from the campfire into the tent and laid ourselves to bed for the night.

It was a peaceful night's sleep.

Until it wasn't.

A loud crash from what sounded like just outside our tent woke me and Clara up. I was still stunned, laying down in my sleeping bag as Clara jolted up and went to investigate. By the time I made my way out of the tent, Clara was standing right beside it.

An impact crater right where our campfire was. A pale, perfectly spherical object no bigger than a beach ball lay embedded into the earth at its centre. Clara stood over it, staring at it. Unmoving.

"Clara, what is that?!"

"He's... beautiful..."

She began to walk towards the object, arms outstretched.

"Clara, don't! Get away from it!"

I ran towards her, grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her away and towards me.

Her eyes were black pearls. She wore that same content smile she had that night.

"Why would I run away... from our child?"

I don't know if the sheer shock weakened my grip, or if in that moment Clara had gained some otherworldly strength, but she effortlessly ripped herself away from my grip, and continued into the crater, arms still outstretched as she made her way down its slopes.

The orb began to hover in response to Clara's approach, levitating at most 5 feet off the ground.

It began to reshape itself, twisting, contorting, and folding over itself in ways non-euclidean. In ways that defied logic and physics. Its texture shifting from a glossy metallic to that more akin to human skin. It's like it had just changed itself on a wholly molecular level. As it continued to morph into its perfect, final shape, I could feel a strange ache in the back of my head as I continued to look at it. As if something was probing my mind, digging around. Searching for something. Even remembering it now, I feel that similar ache in the back of my head. A magnetism stopped me from looking away, and the ache got worse. The object took the shape of a newborn baby, of "Daryl", small and frail, still hovering above the ground. Clara pulled off the blanket that was still wrapped around her, and gently swaddled "Daryl" in it.

She turned slowly to face me. It was just like that night. Her face, bathed in moonlight. Her black, abyssal eyes. "Daryl", staring straight into me, with those eyes that contained something unfeeling yet sinister deep within.

It took all I had to look away, to go against this force pulling my gaze towards "Daryl". I could feel my psyche breaking, who I was, and all common sense, being overwritten by some other power. Visions of cataclysm seeped in through my mind. A world in flames. A pale orb resembling the moon above it all.

Every synapse fired off, every nerve shot with pain, as I ripped my gaze away from the entity. The shock made me pass out, and collapse onto the floor, unconscious.

That was it. The moment my memory broke. Damage done from interrupting the entity's attempt at controlling me.

It was also the moment I had become a father.

The next day, I woke up to Clara and "Daryl" seated at the table, ready for breakfast. I assumed that this was my life, after all, why would I question it? I always wanted a loving wife, and a beautiful baby boy. Even if I had no memory of the night before, and even if the past 9 months were a blur. This was happiness.

And now, 4 months later, I wish I could have maintained that ignorance. My wife was having her deepest desires exploited by some eldritch being.

And I have no idea what the fuck to do.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/googlyeyes93 on 2024-09-10 22:26:59+00:00.

---

Previous

After the run in with Kuchisaka-onna, I took things a lot more seriously. If I was out at night, I tried sticking to more populated areas and be home before midnight. Even then, I made a weekly visit to the nearby shrine and tried to do offerings to cover my ass when possible. It worked for a couple of months, too. Though I did make it a point to look into some of the more common yokai just on the off chance I ran into any.

Turns out that even the most well-lit, public places can be dangerous when it comes to spirits. No matter how safe you’re trying to be, one of the most terrifying things about yokai is that they simply do not give a flying fuck about where they show up.

It was around October maybe, I had gone out for a nice dinner with Hikaru, the girl I’d been seeing since my last encounter. It was nice, walked through one of the parks at sunset, spending some nice time together. She was teaching me Japanese, so I was able to finally understand and conversate a little, but nothing beyond ordering at the restaurant usually. Either way, I was really falling for this girl, spending most of my time off base with her when I could.

Maybe around eleven I walked her back home, a little kiss goodnight then it was off to the train station to get back to base. Sounds easy enough, and I was in a pretty good mood after a nice date night, relaxing and having a couple of drinks.

The subway was a lot more empty than I expected, with the train platform totally empty by the time I got there. Ten minutes on the screen until mine got there, so I took a seat on one of the benches to wait. Pretty sure I started drifting off, the silence and flickering lights of the train station lulling me to sleep.

Scraping sounds made me jump back up with a start thinking my train had finally made it. Looking up at the screen though, there were still five minutes left on the arrival counter. The scraping was still going though, like something dragging along the rocks lining the tracks below. I got up to see, wondering if maybe someone fell onto the tracks while I was asleep and I didn’t notice. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried killing themselves with one of the trains out here. Hopefully that wasn’t the case and it was just a drunken accident or something.

I approached the edge of the platform, cautiously standing back before leaning forward to see the source.

The scraping sound grew louder, like it was trying to rush along the ground much faster than before, geting close. I didn’t even see anything over the edge before a hand came up over the edge, grasping the concrete platform before another joined it. The fingers were bloody, scarlet shining bright against the pale white skin. A mess of dark, black hair followed slowly behind, pulling itself up from the tracks toward me.

Look, I may have been kind of stupid during my last run-ins, but I watched The Rig and The Grudge to know that pale girls with messy long hair are a fucking problem. Needless to say, I started stepping back fast, desperately trying to get away. The scraping sound got louder as she heaved herself onto the platform, long fingernails clawing at the clean cement, making terrible sounds. It looked at me, dark black eyes from pupil to edge, mouth wide in a silent scream. When she was fully on the platform I could see the source of the dragging noise.

Her body ended around her abdomen, jagged bones sticking out of still bloody insides. As she crawled forward on her elbows and hands, the protruding bones scraped the concrete below, making the awful scraping noise and leaving a bloody trail. God, as it grew louder it sounded like nails on a chalkboard mixing with a train running off the rails. My head was pounding, getting dizzy just listening to it.

I finally got my body to move, running toward the other end of the platform and the small guard station at the top of the stairs there. I had seen an older guy when I came through, though he didn’t look like he was in the mood to help, hopefully he would make exceptions when it comes to yokai.

Despite being somewhat in shape, I am the opposite of fast. So blowing out of the platform I hit speeds previously unknown to man. I could still hear the scraping behind me as I flew by, desperately hoping to at least reach the stairs that MIGHT slow her down.

Yeah, nope.

I did the classic mistake when up against weird shit, and I looked behind me after hearing the sound of scraping metal join the ruckus. This bitch was on my damn heels, a huge scythe held in one hand now, but walking along on her hands faster than a goddamn circus performer. I might have been propelled further by the adrenaline, especially because her face was more clear now, frozen in a disfigured scream of shock, anguish, and tormented pain that I’ll never get out of my mind. As she got closer, she switched to hopping along on one arm, raising the scythe to cut me down to her size.

Maybe it was the offering I had done a couple days before, but I think something was looking out for me as I finally reached the steps. Bracing myself for the inevitable trip and fall, I launched myself toward them, trying to clear the first few. It worked, miraculously, and her swing with the scythe went under my feet as I landed three steps up, grasping the rail. Even with my newfound luck I had to keep running, legs and lungs both burning by now as I rushed further up the steps.

It finally happened. I knew my luck wouldn’t last for long, but barely two further up the stairs and I tripped, smashing my face on the edge of one of the concrete steps. It dazed me, hardcore, and I could barely get my vision back as I struggled back up, blood now gushing from my nose. All I could smell was blood, but the persistent sound of the yokai was gaining on me.

I could hear the scraping turn to tapping behind me, getting louder as she pulled herself up the steps behind me. The jagged bones would drag up, before flopping onto the next step, gushing blood from the exposed insides on her abdomen every time it was pushed in. The sound alone made me want to throw up, but the trail of bright red viscera behind her was something else to see. The train tracks behind her were glowing in the fluorescent lights above, looking more like the fires of hell with every second.

There was no getting back up, my head entirely fucked and barely able to realize which way was up. All I could do was clamber back on hands and knees, pushing myself further up the stairs as she crawled behind.

For a moment we made eye contact, making me stop in my tracks as something burned into my mind. It wasn’t my memory, but I saw it like I was living it.

A bunch of girls, just kids, pointing and laughing at me, telling me that my parents didn’t even want me, so why should they? I was never going to contribute to society anyway, especially not since I was already one of the kids forgotten to the system.

It’s pointless anyway, all this school I’ve been going through, only to get scolded by the teacher for being stupid while the other kids just laughed at me. They were right. I should contribute to the people around me in the way that would serve them all best.

My vision flashed away, now standing right in front of the same platform we were at, looking at the speeding train heading my way fast. One light was on the front, warm and welcoming as I started walking closer to the edge. The conductor blew the train horn, though I’m not sure if he saw me. It would be too late if he did, because I stepped off right before the train came barreling into the station. I could feel the force of the train and wind as it knocked me back onto the train platform. As my vision faded, I looked back to where the train was stopped now, doors open and people pouring out on their daily commute. On the floor, looking up at all the people who would be better off without me, my vision faded as my last view was the jagged remains of my spine jutting from where my waist should be.

The train came screeching into the station, bringing me back from the terrible vision being forced through to me. More than fear, I was in despair now, tears stinging my eyes and broken nose as they trailed down. She was gone, no trail of blood or scraping sound in sight other than the train grinding against tracks, slowing to a halt.

I ran even faster than I had running away from her, diving right through the train doors and past a crowd waiting to exit as soon as they opened. Can’t say I blame them for giving out a littlke scream and fleeing, because I probably looked like a murder victim running from hell right then. Cowering in the seat of the train car, I kept an eye on everything around me, waiting for her inevitable reappearance to take me just like she was taken. There was one other person sitting in the car, a younger guy dressed in casual clothes, wearing a baseball cap. He would side eye me occasionally, though I wasn’t paying him any mind. Despite everything though, all I could feel for her was sadness. She scared the shit out of me, sure, but from the research I had done on onryo, she’s a lost spirit.

Even after running into the Slit Mouth Woman before, the Teke Teke is still one of the most terrifying encounters I’ve had. When I finally left the station, I caught a glimpse of what I think helped me get out alive.

The guy in the baseball cap left the station ...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/iifinch on 2024-09-10 16:01:00+00:00.

---

Previously

We tried not to let that ruin the night. We left to get food at Waffle House and attempted to regroup. Kathleen needed the most cheering up; I could tell the elf's near assault got to her. Barri did most of the work. My mind was half in it. I felt as if we were being watched the whole time. Then Kathleen spoke, and it pulled me back in.

"I just really don't want to die alone," she said.

"Hey, whoa, where's that coming from?"

"I don't know, it's just..." she paused over her words like she knew exactly what she meant but was too ashamed to say it. "When he grabbed me, I was like, 'oh my gosh, this is what everyone is talking about on TikTok, like rejecting a man and he kills you,' and I'm just like 'I'm dead'. This is it, and no one is here to even care."

"We're here," Barri added. Kathleen might as well have not heard it.

"I'm 23 years old and I've never been in a relationship," Kathleen mourned. "No one wants me and no one cares."

"We want you," I said.

"Then where were you?" she asked. That shut me down. Neither I nor Barri replied.

"I'm sorry," she said after a minute of silence. "You saved me, and I know you did, and you always look out for me. I'm just shook a bit and feeling lonely."

"Come," I said. "Let me fly you to my house. Let's find out what this guy is and how to stop him tonight."

I flew the girls to my home to search for books to determine exactly what this creature was and how to stop him. I placed both of them on the ground and hobbled inside. My leg would heal in a couple of hours, but for now, I had a limp.

My mix of confusion, fear, and insult at this attack turned into pure fury as I hobbled. Which made me even madder because I couldn't even stomp properly with one leg. I wobbled.  We journeyed in silence, the echoes of our footsteps spoke for all of us. The girls' steps were quiet and full of trepidation.

Finally, we arrived at the back of the cave where I made my home. Rows and rows of candles with dancing flames greeted us. 

The girls stopped walking.

"What?" I whipped around and barked at them, letting my frustration burst.

They were huddled together, almost holding hands.

"Please don't yell," Barri said, and she covered her ears.

"Sorry," I said. That was the first time I remember raising my voice to either of them, and the feeling twisted my stomach into knots. I stepped toward them to hug Barri. Barri always craved physical affection but she took half a step back.

"Oh," I said aloud, not wanting to make her feel awkward but because I couldn't believe it.

"No, wait, sorry, you didn't do anything. Well, you shouldn't yell, it's just--"

"You live here?" Kathleen interrupted.

Oh, what a sight they must have seen. I forget how differently we live from you. We are just a darker people in tolerance and fashion. Portraits of my ancestors - men and women - line the wall, all in traditional fashion. They sit crouched in black leather with our family's blanket on them. Their fangs bared, their weapon of choice wet, and the head of the victim of choice on the floor. There were at least 100 pictures on the walls, and many had cow heads, rabbit heads, and chicken heads. We don't eat only humans, but of course, the first pictures they saw were of my oldest ancestors, and of course, freshly cut human heads were on their portraits.

I hate that I could hear their hearts beating faster, the shuffle of their feet wanting to escape, and I saw the judgment in their eyes.

"Yes," I said to Kathleen.

They traded glances with each other and came in. That put my heart at ease.

I brought them to my library and tried to show off as little of my place as possible. My heart was at ease, but my shame had not left.

Regardless, together the three of us went through every book in the library to find out what exactly was attacking us.

"Wait, is this true?" Kathleen mocked. "Kill a vampire, get a miracle?" She quoted the unholy book.

"How would I know?" I shrugged. "I don't know, some people say we're cursed or not part of God's design or whatever."

"That would explain your taste in music," Kathleen smiled. "Drake over Kendrick is insane, especially considering--"

"It's not true."

"Whatever," Kathleen closed the book and frowned. "That's mean though. I'm sorry you had to read that; that can't be nice to hear about yourself."

I shrugged. That level of intimacy made me awkward. It was quite unpleasant to read honestly. Especially since I knew no other vampires, and some days I frankly didn't like myself, so I thought, what if the books were right? What if we were cursed?

"Hey, did you hear me?" Kathleen rubbed my back with the gentleness a good friend shows. "I'm really glad we're friends."

"Same!" Barri said as she read a book and then waved it in the air. "I found something about him!"

We gathered around, and she summarized the passage.

"It looks like he's a Lusting Elf. The Lusting Elf is an abomination half-elf, half-demon. It doesn't understand any concept other than greed. The Lusting Elf sees his life purpose is to have everything his mind desires. He'd rather die than not have his lust satisfied. He or his friends will approach a target three times to get what he wants, and if he is denied all three times, he's gone."

"Okay, great, so we just have to prepare for him three more times, and then we're set," I said, still anxious about the situation. "Let's go home."

I dropped Kathleen off last and offered to sleep on her couch to help watch over her. I still felt that creeping feeling that someone was watching us. I did leave her side, though, because I smelled the blood of something non-human. I wish I hadn't; this is what happened.

At perhaps 2 am, while I flew down the streets chasing what I believed could be the man in the plaid suit based on the smell of his blood, something entered Kathleen's house.

This something cracked Kathleen's bedroom door open. The heart-stopping groan of the door roused her from her dream. She had enough time to let out half a gasp before she shut her mouth.

Something entered her room and slammed the door. It didn't bother with silence.

"Are you cold?" the thing whispered. Its voice was deep, adult, and male. Its outline barely visible in the room. The only light the blinds allowed was a small thread from the streetlamps outside.

"Huh, what? What?" Kathleen whispered.

"Are you cold? You have a weighted blanket, so you're either cold or lonely?"

"Are you, um, the guy from the bar?"

"Him? Oh no, not me," it seemed confused at the question. “He sent me though.”

"Please leave."

"Oh, well, can't do that. You should have asked me to tell you what I want. I could have done that."

"What do you want?" she said and reached for her phone in the darkness.

"Please don't do that! Please don't move!" the thing ordered and took three scratching steps forward, directly toward her bed.

"Sorry!"

It didn't reply. It only breathed, loud breaths through its mouth, she assumed. Unsure of what the silence meant, Kathleen wiggled her feet beneath the bed.

CRASH

Her lamp exploded in a scream. By force or by magic, she heard the clatter and the resulting drizzling of shrapnel on her floor. Kathleen screamed.

"I said don't move!" the thing in the dark shouted.

"I'm sorry," Kathleen sobbed, open and raw. She was terrified, and there was nothing she needed to hold back.

"You have so many blankets on. Are you lonely or are you cold?"

"I'm lonely."

"What do you want other than for me to go away?"

"Someone to hold me and tell me this isn't happening." Her words morphed into pitiful, childish blabber. The thing did not comment on that. It walked closer and closer still, until it bumped into the front of her bed.

Thump.

The bed said, and Kathleen did not respond. She could not respond.

"Do you want to ask me what I want again?" the thing whispered.

Kathleen flinched in an attempt to nod her head and then remembered he demanded stillness.

"What do you want?"

The thing in the dark thumped twice against the bed frame,

Thud.

Thud.

Then it climbed into the bed. With the gentleness and absence of an Arizona breeze, it pulled back the covers to reveal her toes. The thing in the dark grabbed Kathleen's toe, its hands small, baby-like, perhaps the hands of a one-year-old. Kathleen loved children.

"Before I begin," the thing said. "I must ask you, do you still deny the advances of my friend? He is why I am here, to get you to accept him. Will you accept him as your master?"

"No, but we can--" she cried.

"Then enough," he said. "You won't be lonely much longer. I am a cousin to the Changeling. I am sort of a cuckoo. I will place my body inside of you from my head to the soles of my feet, and I will nest there. You will never give birth to anything that lives, and the babies who die (if you selfishly choose to have them) shall be denied heaven and hell; their souls shall journey to be slaves for all eternity in the other world."

And then the strange creature parted her legs.

And that is where I come in, having smelled the blood of another inhuman. I flew back and crashed through Kathleen's window. I grabbed the thing by its neck and beat its head against the floor.

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

I eagerly lapped up the blood, relishing my revenge and the opportunity to feast on something great. But the texture, the flavor, the way it oozed - this ...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/EmmaWatsonButDumber on 2024-09-10 21:16:23+00:00.

---

You know the moment when you're at the top of a rollercoaster? You know the feeling of the first 3, 4 seconds of the drop? As much as you adrenaline junkies say it's amazing, don't lie - it's absolutely awful, terrifying.

That's how I felt two hours ago.

Clink.

I live in one of these duplex type of homes - a house split in two. One side, mine. The other, the neighbor's. Or, right now, no one's. No one lives next to me. It's for sale.

Don't imagine it's something fancy - I've rented it out to have more room for my paintings. It has a simple layout: downstairs, my living room and kitchen, with a tiny service bathroom. Upstairs, two bedrooms, one mine, the other turned into a painting room, because I can't sleep in the smell of oil paint.

I was hanging up some paintings in the upstairs hallway, the one that shares a wall with the other home. As I raised my hand with the nail, and my hammer, I tripped (which was odd by itself, because I never trip on thin air) and, since my hand was already swinging, I quickly pulled my other hand, with the nail, away, afraid to hit my finger. My hammer went straight into the wall - carboard walls, typical to cheap American homes.

I stood there in silence, staring like an idiot at the hole I'd just made.

I hadn't expected the wall to be so thin, so that I could see the darkness from the other home. It was extremely odd and off-putting - I hated living next to no one. That home had been for sale for ages.

In the silence, I suddenly heard movement on the other side. Confusion, then fear, then disgust swept over me. Please. No rats. It's all I ask.

Hesitant, I peaked through the hole, trying to see the culprit. The other room definitely needed to have windows, so the darkness would not be too bad, I thought. Still, my mind was fuzzy: how on earth did I manage to break into the other home? How? I knew the term paper-thin walls, but I'd assumed that was just an exaggeration.

In that moment, I know I wasn't the wisest - it wasn't exactly the best decision to put my eye right into the opening of a stale, dusty room. Even if there were rats, that made it even more unsanitary. Those were the thoughts playing in my head, which were cut short all of a sudden.

I pulled away, eyes wide, mouth open, scarcely breathing.

There it was. The drop of the rollercoaster. Well enough, I'd seen another eye looking back.

The house was silent, but not a welcoming silence, or a comforting one, the one I'd gotten to know since living alone. No, this silence was like a being on its own. I felt it moving through my walls, and I feared it wasn't the only one.

Clink.

How do I know it was me who was looking back? Well, I have a scar on my left eyelid. Walked into a wire when I was a kid, lucky it didn't blind me. Two hours ago, I'd seen that same scar through the wall.

My mind raced for answers. It's a mirror. It's a fucking mirror.

That's what it had to be. The other room had a double-sided mirror on the wall. I put my finger through the hole, expecting to feel the glass.

I felt skin.

I think I've never screamed so loud before in my life. No, first, I think I gagged. I'm trying to remember the right order of things, but I can't. My throat is still sore from that scream. I could not think of a reasonable thing to do, because that wasn't a reasonable situation. What if it was a dead body?

No, I'd heard it moving.

I've been pacing through my living room since. I've stopped to type this, hoping someone might know how to help.

Clink.

From time to time, I hear this sound. A clink, coming from the hole.

The first time I heard it was an hour ago. It was almost imperceptible. Now, it's the same sound, but I feel like it's become deafening.

I turn to look, and I see that whoever is on the other side is dropping pins on my floor, through that hole. Clink. A pin falls, followed by another.

I don't know what's scarier - the fact that someone is on the other side - me, perhaps? -, or the fact that it knows I saw it.

It's a really thin wall, and I'm afraid something can break through it from any side. Tonight, I'm sleeping at my friend's.

Tomorrow, I don't know what I'll do. Wish me luck.

As I'm zipping my back up to leave, I hear another clink. I turn, and, from the door, I can see an eye peeking through the hole in the wall.

I get into my car. I'll hit post now, then fire up the engine and get out of here. I have one more thing to say - the upstairs room, the one stuck to my home, the one where the hole is supposed to lead, has no windows.

I don't know what's in there, and how long it's been lurking. I don't even want to think about the fact that for the last year I've been living next to that thing.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/thegeneralg on 2024-09-10 19:06:53+00:00.

---

I can remember that last night at camp like it was yesterday. We sat just outside the newly refurbished cabins as a campfire crackled peacefully in the stone ring in front of us. The grass had been freshly mowed, and the scent of pine lingered in the air. The sound of crickets and other insects was all I could hear as they floated contentedly nearby. The intense heat of the afternoon had finally lessened, and the night sky felt pleasantly cool and refreshing. During the day, the sky was so blue it almost hurt your eyes. But at night, it was all inky darkness, and the flickering light of the campfire was the only main source of light. I watched as tiny wisps of smoke slowly climbed into the sky before they disappeared into the dark pine branches. I was close enough to the fire that I watched as the coals pulsed with heat and the embers cast a soothing glow on the surrounding pines.

By then almost everyone else had gone to bed, so it was just Violet and myself. We hadn’t said anything to each other for a while, but I had a question I’d been meaning to ask. She was the head camp administrator and knew everything. It was Labor Day weekend, and with the final celebration over, there was just a tiny few of us left to close everything down for the start of camp next year. The end of summer atmosphere and the fact that the camp was now virtually deserted meant that it was the perfect chance to ask something that had been on my mind but for some reason I hadn’t quite been ready to.

“Why don’t we ever go across the lake to the land on the other side?”

“We’re not the only people who like to gather around the fire in the woods at night.”

I was unsure of how to take this. “What do you mean?”

She paused, a hesitant look on her face. “Depends on who you ask. I’ve seen some giant bonfires, some weird dancing, some screeching, and a group of people. But others say people have found things in the morning amidst some smoldering remnants of a fire. Bones that they can’t be sure are animal or human. Some have sworn people were watching them. Not doing or saying anything, just silently watching. Either way, no one’s ever bothered us out here, but never forget someone can always start.”

There was a silence that hung over the air. I knew she had more to say.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked.

She sighed. “I’ve told you what I’ve seen. That’s it. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t heard things. I have. Whenever I see a giant bonfire, or better yet, I smell it because it doesn’t smell like a normal bonfire, I hear things. Strange things I haven’t heard anywhere else. Noises that don’t sound completely human or completely animalistic. But the worst is when it’s not a sight or a sound, but a feeling. Only a few times, maybe 4 or 5 in all the times I’ve been here, have I felt something, but you better believe that was enough. I’ve never felt such raw, animalistic fear. It’s almost like it felt like a literal part of my DNA and it was so intense my body could barely contain it. It passed quickly, but you don’t forget something like that.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t.”

“The other thing is that even the fire isn’t like normal fires. Even from a distance, it looks mostly normal, but there’s some tiny difference that stands out. It’s not a fire that invites you to sit around, roast marshmallows, and tell stories. It’s a warning. For what exactly I don’t know, but a warning is a warning all the same.”

“Fair enough. Thanks for telling me.”

“Sure. There’s just one other thing. I don’t know why or how it happens, but there have been a few times when  I’m outside and night and all of a sudden, the sounds of insects stop buzzing and the frogs stop croaking. Completely and simultaneously. It’s more than a little unsettling, and every time it happens, I get inside as quickly as possible. I never see or experience anything else, but something tells me to get inside now,” she emphasized the final word. “So that’s what I do, and once inside, I slam the door shut. And nothing ever happened. But it beats the alternative.”

“No doubt.”

“Just remember. We tell campfire stories, but there are things out there that are the campfire story.”

We went to bed soon after that. By that time, the fire had burned down to a small glow, and the only lights were the ones scattered intermittently throughout the area. The rest of the area was completely dark, so I was paying close attention to my surroundings. I was halfway back to my cabin when I felt it. The sense that something had changed and not for the better. I quickly looked around, but everything looked exactly the same. So I kept on, trying to figure out what was different.

Then it hit me. Everything was quiet. No mosquitos shrilly whizzing by, or no crickets chirping away in the bushes. Everything had fallen completely silent.

I could immediately see why Violet had the reaction she did. It was downright eerie. So I had a similar reaction, and sprinted the rest of the way to my cabin. It wasn’t far, but in the darkness and with fear trickling down my neck faster than the sweat from my sprinting, the short distance felt like it had multiplied.

When I finally had the door in sight, I frantically unlocked it, tugged it open, and slammed it shut before sliding the deadbolt in place. Only then did I take a deep breath and try to calm down. Everything was exactly in place, and the illumination that flooded the space did not reveal any unwanted surprises. Just like always, I had the cabin to myself, and that had not changed. Nor was there any commotion from outside, no pounding on the door or disembodied scream. Just the still summer night.

So after a few more deep breaths, I tried to get ready for bed. Once I was under the covers, I switched off the light and looked out the nearby window. My bedroom is on the second floor, and it came with a window overlooking the nearby lake and forest. With the light off, I could just faintly see across the lake, and what looked like a fire just barely flickered from the other side. I don’t know why, but I could tell it had just started, as it was just a sliver of a flame against the night sky. I could also faintly make out shadows moving near it.

The sight sent a chill down my spine, and that chill immediately spread to the rest of my body when I saw the sight of what looked like a boat gliding across the lake’s surface. It wasn’t like any boat we had here, and the shadow inside it was too large to belong to anyone I knew.

I laid there in shock, unsure of what to think or do. I’d been a camp counselor out here for years, and I’d never seen anything like this before. Sure, there were a couple times where I thought someone was watching me at night here or there, but it turned out to be nothing besides the usual feeling of being out there in the woods at night. The longer I laid there starring out the window, the more I half expected to see something or someone leering outside at me, but nothing happened. At some point I fell asleep and had the creepiest dream where someone in a cheap mask and a black cloak was watching me from the foot of my bed. They didn't do anything or say anything, they just stood there. So still it was unnatural.

I eventually woke up to sunlight streaming through the windows. It was warm when I stepped outside, but you could feel summer was slipping away, and the pleasant weather made it easy to shake off what I’d felt the night before. It also didn’t hurt that last night had been the last official night we were at camp, and we were all due to leave later tonight.

So off I went in search of a quick breakfast that I found in the form of some cereal that Violet and Eric were also having outside. Once I grabbed a bowl, i joined them at a picnic table.

"Sleep well guys?" I asked them after I had started eating.

"Ok," Eric said. "I had a crazy dream. "Someone broke into my cabin and was watching me while they hid in my closet. Someone wearing a mask."

That made me sit up straight, and I wasn't the only one. Violet was looking at both of us with an uneasy expression.

"I had a bad dream too. Someone people were lurking outside my window. Two of them. Both in robes and masks."

Then I told them about my dream. And I told them about what I'd seen and felt last night for good measure. Eric was pale when I was finished.

"I saw that too," was all he could say. "And I swear I saw a procession of people with torches coming out of the woods right near the boundary of camp."

The three of us sat there in total silence until Violet spoke.

"Let's just get everything done and get out of here. "

That was fine by me, because with that ominous air hanging over everything we finished the few final matters in record time, and then the only thing left was for all the remaining counselors to hop in two cars and engage in our usual final camp ritual of a movie and pizza. Over the years we’d seen several movies on Labor Day weekend, from Raiders of the Lost Ark to Ghostbusters, but this year we were going to Aliens. I loved the original and I was looking forward to it.

And I was not disappointed, because it was an incredible ride of a movie that we all enjoyed that somehow manage to make me forget what had happened the night before, if only for a short time. When it was done, we all went to the local pizzeria and treated ourselves. As always, it was a wonderful time. When we were all done, it was time to return to camp so we could pack up and h...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/CreepyStoriesJR on 2024-09-10 17:29:20+00:00.

---

I’d never been one to believe in the supernatural. Ghost stories, urban legends, all that stuff, none of it had ever held much sway over me. But after my first night as a security guard at this 24-hour gas station on the outskirts of town, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

It was supposed to be an easy gig. A late-night job to pay the bills. Nothing more than keeping an eye on the place, handling the occasional drunk driver or rowdy teen, and making sure no one wandered too far into the parking lot. At least, that’s what I thought when I applied. The pay was decent, the hours quiet, and the isolation didn’t bother me. In fact, I preferred it.

The gas station itself wasn’t much to look at, a dingy building that sat at the edge of a long, winding road that seemed to stretch into nothing. The main attraction was the bright fluorescent lights that flickered above the pumps and cast long shadows across the parking lot. Inside, it was just as unimpressive: aisles of chips and snacks, a small refrigerator stocked with energy drinks and sodas, and a counter where my coworker, Ray, sat behind the register.

Ray was in his late forties, maybe early fifties, and had the look of a man who’d spent too many years on the night shift. His skin was pale, his hair thinning, and his eyes had that glazed-over, distant look that made me wonder if he ever really slept. He’d been at the gas station for years, or so he told me on my first night, and he didn’t say much else unless he had to.

Tonight, as I clocked in and grabbed my flashlight, Ray was sitting behind the counter, sipping from a cup of coffee and staring out into the parking lot. He nodded at me when I came in but didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t need to.

“How’s the night been so far?” I asked, trying to make some small talk.

Ray took a long sip of his coffee before answering, his voice gravelly from too many cigarettes. “Quiet. Just how I like it.”

“Anything I should know about?” I asked, settling in for what I thought would be an uneventful night.

Ray’s eyes flicked toward me, then back to the parking lot. “Yeah, actually,” he said slowly. “There are a few things you should know. Rules, mostly. The kind that’ll keep you out of trouble.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Rules? Like what?”

Ray glanced over his shoulder, as if making sure no one else was listening, then leaned in a bit closer. “I’ll tell you about them through the night,” he said. “It’s easier that way. Some things you just need to experience to understand.”

I was about to ask him what he meant when he added, “And one more thing: don’t ask too many questions.”

The night passed slowly. The hours seemed to drag on, and apart from the occasional car pulling in to fill up, nothing much happened. I made my rounds around the parking lot, checked the perimeter, and kept an eye on the pumps. Ray stayed behind the counter, always watching, always sipping his coffee.

It wasn’t until around 1 AM when Ray suddenly cleared his throat. “There’s something you need to know about,” he said, his voice low and serious. “First rule.”

I stopped mid-step and turned toward him. “Yeah?”

“If you see a little boy come in,” Ray continued, “around seven or eight years old, wearing a red jacket, don’t talk to him. Don’t even acknowledge him. Just let him do what he does and leave. He comes around sometimes, usually late at night. But whatever you do, don’t speak to him. If he asks you for help, ignore him.”

I stared at Ray, waiting for the punchline, but there wasn’t one. He was dead serious.

“What happens if I talk to him?” I asked.

Ray didn’t look at me. “You don’t want to know,” he muttered.

I didn’t press him further, but the thought of a little boy wandering around the gas station in the middle of the night was unsettling enough.

A few hours later, after another lull in activity, Ray spoke up again. “Second rule,” he said, without looking at me.

I was restocking the drinks in the cooler, and I stopped, listening.

“Stay out of the shadows,” Ray continued. “If the lights flicker and go out, stay where it’s lit. Don’t walk into the dark corners. You might see things moving in the dark, shadows that don’t belong to anything. Whatever you do, don’t follow them. They’ll lead you somewhere you can’t come back from.”

I glanced out the window at the flickering parking lot lights. They were old, barely working half the time. But Ray’s tone made me uneasy.

“Have you seen the shadows?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Ray shrugged, sipping his coffee. “Once or twice. Don’t care to see ‘em again.”

Around 3 AM, the gas station was completely silent. No customers, no cars, just the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. I was getting restless when Ray spoke up again.

“Third rule,” he said. “That door in the back of the station? The one marked ‘Employees Only’? Don’t open it. Don’t knock on it, don’t go near it. Just ignore it. It’s better that way.”

I frowned, looking toward the back of the station. There was a door there, old and scratched up, with a faded sign that read “Employees Only.” I hadn’t paid much attention to it before.

“What’s behind it?” I asked, though I had a feeling I already knew Ray’s answer.

“Don’t know. Don’t care to find out,” Ray replied. “But sometimes you’ll hear noises coming from back there. Scratching, tapping, maybe even voices. Ignore it. The door stays closed.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words settle over me.

The hours dragged on. It was nearing 4 AM, and fatigue was starting to set in. The hum of the gas station’s lights, the soft hum of the refrigerator units, and Ray’s occasional cryptic advice were all that kept me company.

That’s when Ray hit me with the fourth rule.

“Last thing you need to know for now,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “The light in the parking lot? The big one near the pumps? Make sure it stays on. If it goes out, you need to fix it right away.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What happens if it goes out?”

Ray set his coffee cup down and gave me a hard look. “If it goes out, they’ll come. And you don’t want them coming.”

I didn’t ask who they were.

Sometime after 4 AM, the gas station felt… wrong. I was stocking shelves when I noticed Ray wasn’t behind the counter anymore. I hadn’t seen him leave or heard him move. It was as if he had vanished.

“Ray?” I called out, stepping toward the counter. No answer.

I looked around the gas station, checking the aisles, the bathrooms, and even the perimeter outside. But there was no sign of him. The back door remained shut, the shadows in the far corners of the station dark and foreboding.

I felt a rising sense of dread. Ray was nowhere to be found. The air felt thick, like it was pressing down on me, and a chill crept up my spine.

Suddenly, I remembered one of the rules, the shadows. I stayed under the fluorescent lights, avoiding the dark corners, my heart racing. I didn’t know if I’d broken a rule by looking for him, but something told me I had.

The parking lot light flickered.

My stomach lurched, and I sprinted outside, fumbling with the switch on the side of the building. After a few agonizing seconds, the light sputtered back to life. The parking lot bathed in that familiar glow, and I exhaled, my hands shaking.

When I went back inside, Ray was there. Sitting behind the counter like he’d never left.

“Where the hell did you go?” I demanded, my voice louder than I’d intended. “I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Ray didn’t look up from his coffee. “You shouldn’t have looked for me.”

“What?”

“That’s the last rule,” he said, his voice low and tired. “If I disappear, don’t look for me. The thing that comes back won’t be me. Don’t talk to it, don’t acknowledge it, just pretend it’s not there.”

I stared at him, my blood running cold. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Ray finally looked up at me, his eyes empty, devoid of any emotion. “You broke the rule.”

My heart pounded in my chest, confusion and fear swirling inside me. Was he messing with me? How could this thing be telling me not to talk to it if it wasn’t Ray?

I backed away slowly, my mind racing. If this wasn’t Ray, then what was it? Why would it warn me about itself?

The shadows in the corners of the station seemed to shift, growing darker, stretching toward me. The parking lot light flickered again, and this time, I didn’t move. I was frozen, caught between disbelief and terror.

It was like the shadows were alive, moving, slithering, coiling closer and closer. My mind raced, screaming at me to stay in the light, to follow Ray’s rules. But my legs felt like lead, my body unwilling to respond as the darkness seemed to wrap itself around the corners of the store.

Suddenly, a low hum filled the air, like the station itself was groaning under the weight of something unseen. The flickering of the parking lot light became more erratic, casting brief, harsh flashes across the interior. In the back of my mind, I remembered what Ray had said about the lights: If they go out, they’ll come. You don’t want them coming.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to move. My body jerked into action as I ran for the switch that controlled the parking lot lights. My fingers fumbled with the old, rusted lever on the wall, and for a moment, my heart nearly stopped as I realized it wasn’t working. The hum intensified, and the shadows seemed to surge forward, creeping across the floor like liquid night.

With a desperate grunt, I yan...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/camwalker22 on 2024-09-10 12:18:10+00:00.

---

Most of what we serve is on draught. Lager or ale, though the regulars insist on calling the latter ‘beer’—like I’m supposed to care. I’m a nineteen-year-old history student, not a crusty old barfly. Do they think I care about using the correct term to refer to their dancing juice? I’ve worked at The Opal Pendant pub for a month, and I’m already sick of the tedium. Functioning alcoholics. The smell of spilt drinks. Fridges that buzz too loud. The glasswasher’s rumble. It can get busy on the weekends. But midweek? In the off-season? Nope. It’s just me and the regulars. 

“I’ll have another one, boy,” Colin said. He’s an Irishman who openly admits to living in a tent by the river.

“Alright.”

I bent for an empty pint glass, tilted it beneath the tap, and pulled the lever. A stream of russet liquid began to fill it, and I held the pose, squinting. Pulling pints can make you feel like you’re on a stage sometimes. It’s an act that draws eyes, even when the mind is elsewhere. Added to that was the curiosity of watching the new guy behind the bar. Pint poured, I handed the drink to Colin under the surveillance of covetous eyes.

“Three-seventy, please.” I said. He pulled out a blue plastic bag filled with coins and delved into it, grubby fingers shaking. He fished four out.

“Here you go, boy. Say, would you mind giving me a top up? Head’s a tad big.”

They can be very prissy about their beer, I’ve learned. Fingernail hygiene or liver vitality may not matter a great deal to a Pendant regular, but value for money of their primary vice does. The creamy layer at the top of Colin’s pint was a centimetre beyond the ‘fingers-width’ I’d been told to leave by the landlady herself, Ally. A rebuttal nearly escaped my lips, but then I remembered her advice:

“There’s three or four who are the lifeblood of The Pendant in the off-season. They’ll turn up every night and drink seven or eight pints a-piece. As much as they might wind you up, do try to keep them happy as best you can, love.” 

“No problem.” I said, giving Colin his change and returning to the ale tap with his pint. Hoarse laughter erupted from the other side of the bar, slicing through the quiet. 

“You serve pints, not ice creams, lad!” a man with huge ears and tufts of hair protruding from each nostril said. 

I blushed. The heckler’s name is Pete, and he’s a paint-stained-work-overall-wearing lager guzzler who laughs at his own jokes. His wife, June, accompanies him to The Pendant, matching his pints with halves for herself. She purrs along to his japes from her barstool, stroking his arm and instigating the occasional public display of affection.

“Leave the boy be. He’s doing his best.” Colin said as I handed back the topped-up pint. 

“He knows I’m joking! Don’t you, lad?” Pete said in his gravelly voice.

I nodded and leaned back on the counter, wishing the next three hours of evening away. Raindrops dribbled down the slanted windows, sometimes racing, sometimes stalling. Stout wooden beams criss-crossed above, and a deer’s head stared blankly from its wall-mount. Gold-rimmed frames displayed portraits of Victorian-era aristocrats. I’d been trying to work out if they were specific people or just generic. Generic, probably. Originals or copies? Copies.

I’m studying in one of those British cities that was in its bloated pomp hundreds of years ago, and like an estuary at low tide, the waters of its significance had receded. What remains are cobbled streets, a grandiose church, a leafy riverfront and places like The Opal Pendant, which try to transport gullible tourists backwards in time. The name holds a certain mystique for them because it isn’t your average ‘Dog and Duck’ or ‘Red Lion’. Outside, above the door, hangs a creaky sign depicting a lavish necklace resting on a cushion. The chain slithers in lazy curves along the cushion to the opal itself, which leans forward on its bottom edge. To my eye, the place the artist has painted on an exaggerated gleam gives the impression that the jewel is winking. Like it knows something that the passerby doesn’t.

The door handle rattled. Stopped. Rattled again. Then flew open, smashing into the wall. A drenched couple walked in and fought to shut out the gale. 

“Bloody ‘ell. Door’s closed then!” Pete exclaimed, causing June to giggle.

“Sorry about that. Is this The Opal Pendant, by any chance?” One of them asked.

I went to answer, but before I could respond, Pete was motoring away again.

“It is, aye!”

“Great!”

I served them while Pete kept them in a conversational stranglehold. He strode out from his perch to show them the flood chart, wincing all the while at a protesting joint.

“This wooden chart has the water level recorded inside The Pendant since 1874, when its been flooded, that is. You can see it almost reached the ceiling there in 2021.”

“The water was that high? In here? You’re telling me all this was underwater?”

“Absolutely. It’s heartbreaking when it floods. It really is. Such an old building and all. Listed. I get upset because it means me and June have to go drink somewhere else, ain’t that right, Juney?”

“Well, we come here even if it’s wet.” She said.

Pete burst into laughter again, revealing his stained teeth. The tourists smiled politely and wandered the room as he harangued them with Pendant trivia. They didn’t stay for a second drink.

“They were friendly.” Pete said, returning to his berth beside June. She smiled and patted his thigh. 

“Another one please, boy.”

I poured Colin’s pint and took payment, careful not to make contact with his unsanitary palm. The more he drank, the longer his pale eyes lingered on things. It was unsettling, but I preferred standing by him and pretending to be busy if it meant I could avoid Pete and June. 

“All that about the flood chart and he didn’t even mention the gods-be-damned necklace.” Colin said.

“Necklace?” I asked.

Footsteps could be heard crossing a room overhead, then descending behind the bar. Colin fixed me with a blank look. 

“Never mind.” He said.

Ally stepped out from the upstairs flat wearing fluffy pyjamas, her dark hair in a loose knot. Wrinkles creased around her eyes as she smiled by way of greeting. 

“Ally, my darling!” Pete bellowed, throwing his arms wide. 

“Hello, you. Hope you haven’t been causing trouble.” Ally said. 

“Me? Trouble? Never!”

“Come on then. Out with ya. It’s shutting up time.”

“Party pooper Ally! Never changes, does it?” 

“You know the drill by now, Pete.” She turned to me. “Everything go OK tonight?”

“Yeah. All quiet.” I said.

“Good. Get yourself home.”

I retrieved my raincoat and went back over to the bar to say goodbye. Pete and June had left, but Ally and Colin were still there. The landlady used a calculator by the till and counted coins while Colin tapped a finger on the polished wood of the bar. I said goodbye and pulled my hood up, marching out into the blustery night. It was a straight ride along the river to get back to my dorm. I untied my bike and pointed it in the direction of home. Well-lit. Smooth tarmac. Off-road. Lovely.

My shift was over and this summer squall wasn’t going to dampen my spirits. The only quirk on my route was a green tent standing behind a copse of trees about a kilometre along the path. I went to push off and saw Colin walking behind, carrying a bulging blue bag that jangled as though it were full of coins. Eerily like coins, actually. But it couldn’t be. He’d gone through all of his money. The coins had gone directly from his bag to the till, via me, all night. Now he was walking home, leathered, with a bag full of god-knows-what. Then it clicked. The tent. Colin lived there! As gross as the guy was, I was in a good mood, so I waved him over. Thankfully, the wind adequately dispersed his body odour. 

“Hey, Colin! Mind if I walk with you? You’re in that green tent, right?”

“I am, boy! That’d be no problem at all.”

I stepped off my bike and wheeled it beside him. 

“Wild night to be in a tent, isn’t it?” I said.

“Ah, it’s not so bad as you might think. And I’ll sleep like the dead soon as my head hits the pillow. That’s what a skinful’ll do for you.”

He had a strange, hobbly walk, and I could see water dripping from the end of his bulbous nose. 

“How long have you been drinking in The Opal Pendant, Colin?”

“Good few years, could be eight. Longer than that loudmouth idiot.”

“Pete?”

He grunted. “All that garbage he spouts, but he knows nothin’. Nothin’! Twas only right that I showed him the… never mind.”

“The necklace?” I asked, and Colin’s sunken eyes caught mine in a glance that wasn’t vacant at all. A pause lengthened between us.

“Aye. The Opal Pendant, that’s what I mean.”

“The Opal Pendant. You have the one the pub is named after? Why didn’t you or Pete mention it to the tourists?”

“I’ll show it to you, and then you’ll understand. It’s only in my tent, just there.” He pointed to the slouching canvas abode, not a hundred yards away. We pushed through wet leaves and branches to come to his campsite. The tent flap had been left open, which sent Colin growling and cursing after he’d launched his jangly blue bag inside. I kicked at fallen leaves while he waded through newspapers and bottles and muddy clothing. He crawled out of view and I thought I’d better give him some space. I looked over at the street-lit path through the undergrowth and listened to the patter of rain as my mind ran drunk on curiosity.

“Are you sure you h...

---

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/rorith-ell on 2024-09-10 18:26:17+00:00.

---

We started dating over a year ago now, and we're both in our twenties. Our generation is known for having a technology dependence, but my boyfriend's is getting ridiculous and I'm at my wit's end.

I knew when we started dating that he played a lot, but he promised me that I would be a priority. He was the most dutiful, kind, and attentive boyfriend up until last month, when a new game came out that all of his friends were obsessed with.

Of course, most of them are single and live alone, so they can play for twelve hours a day.

At first, Angel only played for a few hours at a time, but even then he would be plastered to the screen. No eating, and not a word I said registered with him. Before this, he always played with the boys, chatting and yelling, but he was silent.

After a few weeks, he started playing from the time he came home until he went to bed. He barely ate food - he at least used to do that while he played, but he would hardly touch anything I brought him. Just hunched over the keyboard, his hands moving mechanically over it. I couldn't understand how he was even having fun this way, but once in a while I could hear him laugh from the other room, so it must have been in some way.

Last night, it came to a head. I was standing behind him, practically crying for some attention, and I saw something on the screen that was... odd.

His reflection was what I noticed first. There was no expression on his face, completely empty eyes and sallow cheeks. He once was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen, but now? I could barely recognize him. There was no light in his eyes.

Then the screen flickered - what had been a regular first-person shooter game distorted, and it wasn't a character on the screen. It was him - my perfect, beautiful boyfriend, screaming. I could see blood on his shirt, and for just a second, I thought that he was looking at me. Begging me with his eyes. I could vaguely make out a distorted sound coming from the headset on Angel's head.

Angel smiled, and the screen was normal again. Just a stupid shooter game. I went to bed in a hurry, out of the corner of my eye, I could see Angel turn toward me. I didn't want to talk to him, for once.

It's been stuck in my head, to the point that I had a dream about the game last night, and I can't shake the feeling that Angel isn't really in that room anymore. How could a game be so detailed?

This morning, in the bathroom mirror, I thought for a moment that I saw Angel behind me. He didn't come to bed last night, and I whirled to greet him, but there was nothing.

I even heard my name coming from his game room, but I couldn't bring myself to call back. It was wrong - he never called for me, and his voice was strange. Distorted, even. I can't bring myself to go inside the room after last night.

I'm buying a computer today. I don't know what it is, but I have a feeling that whatever is in my house is not my boyfriend.

I think that I have to save him.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/mr_dry_eye on 2024-09-10 16:20:12+00:00.

---

I’ve lost track of time. My watch stopped working who knows how long ago, and without it, everything feels blurry. I’ve been stuck in this elevator forever or at least, that’s what it feels like. Days? Weeks? I can’t even tell anymore. It’s like time doesn’t exist in here. Every minute drags on in this weird, endless loop, and I’m losing my mind.

I work at a call center. For years, I’ve taken the elevator to the office without a second thought. But today, everything went wrong. I was late for work, rushing to catch the elevator like I always do. The usual one was out of service, so I had no choice but to use the old, broken one—the one that’s always been blocked off with caution tape. Today, the tape was gone. I didn’t think twice. I just wanted to get to work.

I swiped my keycard, and the elevator doors creaked open, groaning like they hadn’t moved in years. I should’ve turned back then, but I didn’t. I stepped inside.

The moment the doors shut; I knew something was wrong. The lights flickered, buzzing overhead like they were struggling to stay on. Gravity felt weird, like the air itself was pressing down on me. I glanced at my watch—it was going crazy, the hands spinning so fast they blurred.

Then, out of nowhere, the elevator dropped. It was like free-falling, like the bottom had fallen out, and I thought for sure I was going to die. But it stopped just as fast, leaving me standing there, I’m breathless and terrified. I checked my phone—it was fully charged, even though I remember it being nearly dead when I got in. Weird, right?

The elevator jerked upward, but it didn’t stop. It kept moving, up and down, over and over. Every time it went up, my watch spun faster, and when it dropped, my phone would somehow recharge to full. Even stranger, the water bottle I had? It refilled itself. The cookie in my bag? It would reappear, untouched, like I hadn’t eaten it.

The air in here is thick, heavy, like it’s slowly choking me. I am having difficulty in my breathing. And the silence. It’s not just quiet, it’s so wrong, I can hear my own heartbeat, loud in my ears, and every once in a while, there’s this metallic screech, like something dragging sharp claws against the walls.

I’ve tried everything to get out. Banging on the walls until my hands bled, screaming at the top of my lungs. But nothing works. The sound just echoes back, like the elevator is mocking me. The emergency button? It’s useless. It doesn’t even click. I’ve tried forcing the doors open with my bare hands, but they won’t budge, not even a little.

My phone? Useless. Every time I try to message someone, the signal drops, and my message disappears before I can hit send. It’s like I never typed it. But I’m still trying, still hoping someone will see this… ASDbbfdghjkuiWErrfdQasdFAoippp//.43CQWD

I hear whispers. Faint, just on the edge of hearing. They sound close, like someone’s standing right behind me, but when I turn around, there’s nothing. Nothing but me and the shadows.

And then, then, I started seeing it.

At first, it was just a feeling. That prickling sensation on the back of your neck, the hair in may nape goes up, I got goosebumps. like you’re being watched. Then I saw them, it I think, the long, black shadows creeping along the walls. They move slow, like they’re waiting, watching, getting closer each time the elevator jerks. It was swimming, well it looks like it. Sometimes, I swear I see hands, twisted and bony, reaching for me from the dark. I try to shake it off, Am I going crazy? I lost perception of time now, I don’t know. I know it’s real. Something is in here with me.

It’s getting harder to think, harder to stay awake. My body feels heavy, like the elevator is sucking the life out of me. My heart, it’s slowing down. I can feel it, I can hear it, this deep, aching pressure in my chest. I’m fading, becoming weaker by the second. PLEASE HELP ME! And, And, and those shadows... they’re closing in. I can see them now, sliding along the walls, fingers stretching out toward me. They want me.

I don’t know how much longer I can last. Every time I close my eyes, I hear the whispers louder, feel the shadows coming to me closer. I can’t stay here.

Please, if anyone is reading this help me. I AM BEGGING YOU PLEASE! Before it’s too late. Before the they take me.

I can’t hold on much longer.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Interesting_Wear_437 on 2024-09-10 08:16:15+00:00.

---

For most of my childhood, I took an interest in all things supernatural. No, I wasn’t some tinfoil hat-wearing, end-is-near preaching maniac. I just enjoyed exploring the wacky cliche theories that get thrown around- UFOs, Bigfoot, top secret CIA projects, that kind of stuff.

I think it was a coping mechanism to make life a little less grey. I come from a small Idaho town in the absolute middle of nowhere that my parents moved to for ‘the lifestyle’. The best attractions are the local convenience store and the meth-heads that hover outside it. Believing that there were surreal disturbances around us was a good way to not die from boredom. Gave my buddies and I a chance to go out and about, to stoke our imaginations as we hunted down these legends. Our town’s traditions of hunting, hiking, and camping became a lot more fun.

By the time I turned 21, we had well and truly grown out of it. We still avidly camped and trekked, but with much different motivations. It was now about drinking and fooling around, away from the prying eyes of society. I’d recently bought an off-road pickup truck with my hard-earning savings. Now my weekends consisted of lugging my friends and our camping gear at blistering speeds down the winding dirt roads of Nez Perce-Clearwater National Forest.

It was just another weekend of hurtling through the forest roads. For one reason or another most of my friends were out of action or busy, leaving only Max with me to scout the map for potential camping areas. We saw ourselves as too cool and seasoned for the designated grounds, preferring to seclude ourselves from any other soul in the area. My mind is on autopilot until I see a fork in the road, and I blurt out,

‘Alright which way we going?’

I hear a hushed ‘the fuck?’ from Max as he paused for a moment, then replied ‘wait, just stop for a second’.

I step on the brakes, a bit frustrated.

‘Quick, we ain’t got all day.’

‘There’s… there’s not supposed to be a fork here. What the hell…’

I reach out for the map, and as Max hands it out to me I almost snatch it. I narrate as I read it.

‘So we passed the old shack, drove by the river, and we should now be… huh. No forks around here…’

I think to myself for a good minute, eventually deciding to fire up the car again.

‘Let’s just go right, we can trace our route.’

Max responds with a quiet murmur of approval. I inch the truck through the right side of the fork, no longer trusting myself to stomp on the pedal like usual. It’s long and steep, the truck winding up and down with fright. The trees appear increasingly withered, no longer sporting their thick, green manes. Our guts are screaming at us to turn back, but the road is so narrow and the trees so abundant that we’re essentially walled off from any other direction than forwards.

After what felt like half an hour, we’re greeted with a bizarre sight- a large, perfectly circular and flat clearing, surrounded by the fully leafless skeletons of trees. Given that the park was protected, mountainous land, this was completely alien- something we would have imagined in our youth. But what was even more harrowing was the small settlement that resided within it. We knew there were a few of those in the region, but this one was sorely different to the usual sight of weathered wood houses and dirt streets.

It looked like a time capsule of the 60s. Vintage cars parked on the side of perfectly paved roads, and a few rows of immaculate suburban houses not too far from a small group of vibrantly painted stores with blaring signs. A retro-looking billboard about 200 feet in front of us read ‘Welcome to Isotope’. The whole place felt unnaturally wrong, like it had been cut out of a different dimension and pasted here. The fear and suspense is cut through by Max’s voice.

‘There’s no fucking Isotope on the map… where are we?’

‘You think I know?’

‘Well let’s at least check it out.’

I really should have told him to shut up, but our survival instincts were pushed aside by our youth and stupidity and nostalgia for conspiracy theories. Before we knew it we had parked smack bang in the middle of the town. The first thing we noticed when we stepped out was its emptiness. Despite its perfect condition, the town was absent of any life. No people, no animals, not even the chirping of birds- just a soulless husk of concrete. As we looked across the street we noticed a store that read ‘Bill’s Mini-mart and Butcher’, its lights on but devoid of any human presence.

‘I dunno, maybe we should turn back.’

‘I know Max, but maybe we could explore a bit. Show the boys the cool stories they’re missing out on.’

‘Umm… alright.’

As we enter the store, I felt a pang of surprise at its pristine condition. The shelves and produce are fully stocked, the lights a warm yellow, and the floors without a speck of dirt. But upon inspection we realise the food brands look like they’re from eons ago- some we don’t even recognise. I can feel a sense of dread growing by the second, although it’s far from the overpowering morbid curiosity that drives me to further explore. We approach the butcher’s section, the meats shining a brilliant, mouth-watering shade of blood red. As I press my hand to the cool glass, the PA system belts a symphony of pure static throughout the building, causing us to jump back. It melts into a corporate-sounding male voice.

‘Welcome to Bill’s Mini-mart and Butcher! We’re proud to be the finest source of produce for Isotope’s residents, as we help America rebuild from the ashes of nuclear war. Please be courteous to our staff and your fellow shoppers.’

I turn to look at Max, whose normally pale face is now like a ghoul’s. Nuclear war? Rebuilding? What timeline had we stepped into? My thoughts were interrupted by the disembodied voice.

‘Make sure to check out our fine selection of meats. Our butcher takes pride in his creative ways of sourcing the finest cuts for our town. And as for the recent reports of wailing-like sounds, please be assured that we are working to fix our ventilation system.’

I look back at the meats, realising they have no labels. In fact, they all look the same. My heart freezes in terror as Max speaks with a shaky voice.

‘L-let’s get out of here man.’

‘Yeah, fuck this.’

As I’m about to take the first step to leave, my ears catch a faint, muffled sound of something between a ragged wail and a scream. It sounds… agonisingly human. Like someone being slowly dragged into the ninth circle of hell. We didn’t need any more hints to bolt to the door. As we sprint with our lives the PA crackles back to life, and this time the voice is garbled and distorted.

‘Our glorious creator has word of two outsiders in our presence. Hunt them down- Isotope thanks you for helping us source America’s finest produce.’

The next half hour was a blur- all I can really remember was the slamming of car doors, crushing the gas pedal to death, and yanking my steering wheel with more intensity than an F1 driver. By the time Max and I had gone back the way we came, we were on the verge of a full on breakdown. Our attempts to report things to the park authorities fizzled out on the spot- they had no records of a town called Isotope, and when they checked out the exact route we took, the fork was gone. All we managed to do was make ourselves look insane.

But that’s not the worst part. I haven’t told anyone this, but as we left Isotope, I saw in the corner of my eye a man dressed in all white, wearing a gas mask and holding what I swore was a cleaver. I thought it was my mind playing tricks at first, but it’s been a few days and Max says he’s started hearing faint, strange noises, something between a wail and a scream. As I’m writing this, I’m booking a flight to move in with some relatives in California. I’m not sticking around to find out what happens to Max- or me.